My Save Year
by Ellawritesficssometimes
Summary: Depressed and rejected by his family, Arthur longs for a new beginning during his first year of University. There he meets Alfred, an optimistic bright-eyed oaf with a sunny smile. An unlikely romance develops between them, one that was already doomed from the beginning. (USUK, multichapter)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** *gasp*! Ella what blasphemy is this? Yes, friends. I'm writing a USUK fic. Honestly, as long as a pair is written well, I don't mind reading it, regardless of the ship. I'm a multi-shipper, despite having some preferences.

 **BUT!** **USUK** is always something that I avoid because I can't picture or write it myself without any difficulty.

Thus, I'm challenging myself by writing a fic about a pairing I don't typically ship. I'm hoping it'll help me grow as a writer.

Oh, and this story, man, prepare your feels.

* **Scotland/ Alistair is a minor character who appears once. I won't emphasize any other accents to make this fic reader friendly.***

 **-Ella**

* * *

Loneliness. Bitterness. Confusion. These were all emotions I've learned to ignore. I refused to validate them, for if I did, there would be no saving me from the hatred of others, there would be no grand escape to a better life. I wouldn't get the chance to make something out of myself.

I was done hating who I was as a person. I was done listening to people lie about how much they cared about me. I was done placing my trust in others.

Truth be, as soon as you become a problem, a burden, if you will, people lose interest in you. They leave you in light of their own selfish desires. Being "there" for someone is the grandest lie of all. You people all leave the moment any effort is required. You make promises you can't keep, all for the sake of looking like a good person when you're _not_.

It's an ugly reality, but I've learned to not to have expectations anymore. Expectations implied disappointment, and I couldn't be disappointed if I didn't have any hope in the first place.

Am I being depressing? Unequivocally. But am I wrong? Not in the slightest.

I gave this life many, _many_ chances, and they've only proved me right by failing me in my time of need.

I grew up knowing I was gay from a very young age. When I came out at fourteen, I was told that I was going through a phase, that I was confused and didn't know what I wanted. I let these ignorant bastards tell me how I felt because I wanted to be accepted. I preferred living in the shadows, but the g-word may as well have been plastered to my forehead ever since.

Mum didn't like that I was gay, but she tried to accept me anyway; emphasis on tried. Dad, however, was the worst of them all. He refused to acknowledge me at home, and made my life a living hell. It was all smiles and perpetual faking until I was out of sight; only then came the profanity. Slurs were heard on a regular basis, and my brothers were no exception to that rule, all save for one.

Alistair, the eldest of my brothers, was the only one who had no problem with me being gay. As far as he was concerned, the only disappointment was him having to protect my innocence from any dodgy, potential suitors. Idiot. He was still 100% convinced that I was a bottom, erm, not that I had any experience in that area…

I wasn't the most pleasant person to be around, as you'll soon find. I pushed more people away than I could keep.

Regardless, this year was my get away. It was the year where I escaped from isolation, saved myself from my depression. I would learn to live again, going unhindered by my chronic fear of rejection. But, for that to happen, I needed to move on.

It was clear Mum and Dad wanted me gone, so I respected their wishes and left them for good.

I had worked hard in my last year of high school, earning myself a scholarship at a prestigious University. Hetalia University was part of an international chain of schools all over the globe, branching out across several continents and their respective countries.

The campus I was accepted into just so happened to be located right outside of Sussex, England. It was a specialized writing school, where some of the best-known authors had graduated from. I was determined to make a name for myself, despite all the difficult, back-breaking work these next four years would require from me.

Unfortunately, unlike my tuition, my living expenses weren't paid for. I had managed to find a job at the campus's library, so at least I had that. Any place where there was infrequent interaction with other people was my God save. It was easier to exist in a private silence than one where you were constantly being judged and ogled at as if you were a strange specimen. Better yet, a strange specimen that was the odd one out and couldn't stand on their own two feet, let alone think on their own terms.

I was glad to finally be free from the scrutiny of others. Going to this University was a fresh start, a chance to live under the radar without ever going detected by others.

I didn't come here to make friends. I wanted to improve as a writer, to rid myself of the stress I had internalized by writing about how I truly felt.

I didn't want to open myself up to another person. The less people knew about me, the better. I neither wanted to be liked nor disliked. I just wanted to exist, to breeze by, to be one of those faceless students whose name you couldn't remember. I couldn't be lonely if I didn't attach myself to others… if I didn't long for company – I thought I didn't need it.

But, as the Universe had a knack for making things go the opposite of how I wanted them to, my student life quickly became a whirlwind of unwanted – not to mention unexpected – emotions and attachments.

I never thought I would make a friend here. Two friends actually, if you count my pestiferous amphibian of a roommate.

What I didn't realize at the time was the thing I needed most _was_ in fact a true companion. Writing was a distraction; it would never truly alleviate the weight of your depression, nor would it save you from the bottomless pit of your own thoughts and fears.

All it took was one smile, one bright, stupid, and sunny smile to change a bad day into a good one. That bloody yank came into my life out of nowhere, shining brighter than I could have ever imagined with his sappy optimism. He was my beacon of hope, my best friend, my every-

His friendship meant more than I would ever dare to admit.

I may not have realized this until later, but this year, _this year_ was my save year.

I had been saved from myself by another kind, selfless soul.

It's just unfortunate I wasn't able to reciprocate the favor.

Not until it was too late.

…

Move in day on campus was a lot less hectic than I thought it would be. Then again, there were maybe 1500 students total at the University, as it was a private campus. Those students whom I did pass almost never seemed to be speaking the same language. Funny how even in my own country, I'm still the odd one out.

The campus was a mixture of old and new architectural designs, filled with the dreary, rich aura of history in spite of the paradoxical naïve and bright-minded moods of newcomers like myself.

The newer buildings were constructed around several thousand-year old Anglo-Saxon castles. Some of these older buildings would indeed be used for hosting classes, just as the library, round-tower church and dining hall at the center of the small University town were also vacated for academic and student use.

There was still a week before classes started, so most students were using their free time to lounge about on the lawns, enjoying the sun's rays if it was gracious enough to poke its head out of the clouds. Many of these foreigners would soon learn that rain was a most common occurrence in England. Although, I couldn't complain. Rainy weather tended to bring out the best muses in writers. No one knew why, it just did.

Despite the excitement in the air, a sagging feeling in my stomach made me feel uneasy. This campus was ripe with ghosts. I felt their despair and regrets as if they were my own.

Alistair must have noticed this too. The ability to see ghosts ran deep in the Kirkland family; almost every child had this affinity. "The air is really thick here, isna it?" he asked me, furrowing his thick red brows in unease.

I nodded my head. We had stopped in front of my dorm, which was one of the newer buildings on campus. It wasn't anything special, just an ugly rectangular brick building that reminded me of a factory had there not been several windows on its side.

"The campus is rumoured to be haunted," I answered him, feeling uneasy when Alistair's green eyes raked up and down my figure, concern evident on his face.

"You don't say?" Alistair murmured before awkwardly clearing his throat. I really wish he wouldn't tread so lightly with me. Yes, I was depressed, but that didn't mean I was fragile. I almost missed the times he used to tease and rough me up when we were younger. Almost.

"Well, that's it," Alistair concluded, setting my suitcase on the cobble-stone path beneath our feet. "Only ye would bring two suitcases to last ye a whole year. And one of them is full o' books. Yer sure are an oddball, Artie. Are ye sure ye don't need anything else?"

"No, no, I'll be quite all right. I'm not being odd, but practical. This is all I need," I muttered morosely, looking anywhere but at him. Alistair was much taller than me and had a habit of making me feel like a child. This moment couldn't have gotten anymore awkward.

It was unspoken, but Alistair and I both knew I didn't want to bring anything that reminded me of the home I had left behind.

"Would ye like me to help bring yer things?" Alistair spoke lightly, thankfully changing the subject.

I forced a smirk on my face, my chest heavy. "I know you call me scrawny, but really now Alistair, could you get any more patronizing? I'm sure I'll be able to carry two suitcases on my own," I huffed indignantly.

Alistair looked conflicted. For a moment, it seemed like he was going to hug me. In the end, he settled for ruffling my hair, much to my annoyance. "And here I thought I could sneak some extra teasing in with yer roommate. Oh well, I'll be visiting ye soon enough, and ye can count on me bringing photo albums from when ye were a wee little lad. Ye were so cute, I don't know what happened. It's like I'm looking at a grumpy old man instead of my 'adult' little brother."

"You think you're so hilarious," I scowled, ducking out of his grasp. "Do that and I'll set fire to everything you love. You have no right to act like my parent when you're still a child yourself. Must I remind you that I found you this morning dressed in nothing but a lampshade and a washcloth? It's a miracle you were sober enough to drive me here today."

Alistair laughed, his voice deep and gravelly as always. "Ye better not act so pissy with others like ye do with me. It's like ye want to be alone. And yer welcome, ye ungrateful willy. If I didna care about ye so much, I woulda gotten rid of ye too. But I just can't. There's something strangely endearing about ye. Maybe it's those thick eyebrows of yours."

"I would say thanks, but your cheap insults cancel out any gratitude I feel towards you." I raised a brow at Alistair in challenge. "Did it ever cross your thick skull that I prefer being alone?"

Alistair sighed, his shoulders deflating. This was a well-worn out argument of ours. "Artie, you gotta try, ye hear? I at least want ye to make one friend here. I'll be calling every now an' then to check up on ye, unlike _some people_ ," he stated bitterly. "I expect more of ye this time 'round. Enjoy yerself a little."

"Just because I'm not a social butterfly like you, doesn't mean I can't have an enjoyable University experience," I crossly retorted.

Alistair wasn't done speaking about our parents just yet.

"Whatever ye say," Alistair raised his hands in surrender. "I just want the best for ye. Mum and Dad may not look like it, but they still do care about ye. I've been tryin' to talk to them, but ye ken how narrow-minded they are. They'll come around, eventually. Yer their son for Christ sake. For now, just focus on yer studies. With yer work ethic, I know you'll do great, Artie. I'll be rootin' for ye, I hope you know tha'."

"Oh sod off, you old sap," I snapped, albeit not maliciously. I didn't know how to react to Alistair being so kind to me. It was a cheap defensive mechanism of mine to lash out with anger when confronted with something I wasn't familiar with.

"But," I faltered. "I do appreciate everything you've done for me. Thank you, Alistair, truly. It's nice to know that at least one person is here to support me."

"O' course," Alistair smiled, a genuine one that very rarely graced his face. He wasn't a very serious person to begin with. "Yer my little brother. You may be a grumpy bastard, but I still love ye. And, Artie?"

"Yes?"

"You ken my door is always open. I may be livin' inna different country now, but that doesna change anythin' between us. Once you're finished with yer year, yer more than welcome to come stay with me. It's not right for a lad yer age to be livin' on his own. If yer willing to drop that insufferable pride of yours, I'd be more than happy to help ye out."

I felt my face flush a little, unused to such kindness. Alistair would be moving away for work in Scotland, his birth place, in a couple of weeks. Before coming here, I had lived with him in his apartment, him almost being thirty years old and all. This was the one time where he was actually acting like the adult he was.

"I'd greatly appreciate that," I looked Alistair in the eye, blinking harshly. "Thank you."

"Anytime."

Alistair waved his hand at me dismissively, contradicting the lump he swallowed down in his throat. "Ah, enough o' this sentimental crap. I'm not sober enough to deal with this. Just have fun, be careful, eat properly, call me every week, and ye'll be fine. Oh, and get a haircut, ye stubborn mutt. I canna even see yer eyes."

I rolled said eyes. "Goodbye, Alistair. I'll skype with you every week, if you like. Although, no promises on the having fun clause or the hair cut. Thanks again, for everything…"

 _For being a true brother to me…_

"Cheeky little bastard," Alistair mumbled to himself.

We said our goodbyes again, which was no less awkward than the first few times.

With that done and said, I turned my back on him, and walked into the dorm, realizing for the first time that I was on my own. It wasn't a good feeling nor was it bad. I didn't know what to expect. I wasn't Arthur Kirkland, I was a nobody who had to start from scratch.

It was invigorating, that's for sure.

I didn't have to worry about what others thought about me, especially if everything went according to plan. No one was to know anything about me. That way, I couldn't be judged.

I found my shared dorm room on the tenth floor, room 1066. It would be an understatement to say I was appalled by the strong waft of roses that entered my nostrils upon entering the room.

The dorm room was small, consisting of a cozy living room with one leather couch, a rather small tele on a rickety wooden nightstand, a rug that looked like it had seen better days, and a small kitchen not meant for much more than heating up leftovers or doing dishes. There was a dining hall for a reason, after all.

I've also been told I wasn't the greatest of cooks; I have yet to figure out why – scones were supposed to be a bit hard to chew, weren't they? It was good for the teeth, or was it bad? I had no bloody idea.

The bedrooms and the one bathroom were located in a skinny hallway to the left of the front entrance of the room. Thankfully, Francis – my roommate - and I had agreed beforehand that I would be getting the room with the largest window. The French international allegedly liked his beauty sleep.

We had only kept in contact through text over the summer, but even then, Francis was still grating on the nerves. From what I could tell, he was arrogant and full of himself.

I couldn't have been anymore right about him as I set my two suitcases down in the front room, spotting Francis lounging on the couch with a glass of wine in his hand, wearing nothing but a blue bath robe. There was soft music playing in the background – something French and definitely not English. The living room window was left open, allowing a breeze to sweep through the room, rustling the residence papers he had lying on the coffee table. Next to the papers, there was a half-full ash-tray, which would explain the lingering scent of smoke in the air – oh _did_ I have something to say about that.

Francis looked exactly the same as he did in the picture the residence coordinator had sent me. Same wavy blond hair, azure eyes, and permanent, obnoxious smug lilt of a smirk. He was tall and thin, his arms draped over the couch as if he owned it and the entire place, like a pompous, domesticated cat who had selfishly claimed their owner's territory as their own.

I stifled my irritation and did my best to give a proper introduction, looking anywhere _but_ Francis's hairy legs, chest, and slipper-covered feet. It was two in the bloody afternoon. Who the hell had the spare time to act so casual? Was I rooming with a Frenchman or a 40-year-old suburban stay-at-home mother? Who knows.

I cleared my throat, standing awkwardly in the front door. "Hello. I'm guessing you must be Francis Bonnefoy?" I asked, reaching into my pocket to pull out the photo I had of him.

Francis gasped, setting down his nearly empty wine glass. He stood up from the couch so abruptly that I almost got whiplash just by looking at him. Before I knew it, the Frenchman was standing before me, unfortunately a few inches taller than I was, pale eyebrows rising in contemplation.

"Oui, I am! Mon dieu!" he exclaimed, his voice fairly accented, but still understandable nonetheless. "Arthur, Arthur Kirkland, oui? Bonjour, bonjour~! And here I thought pictures didn't do a person justice. Tell me, how is it that you grow out your eyebrows that thick? Do you use a cream? Ointment? Coconut oil? You must tell me! I've been growing out my hair for a few months now, and I'm looking for any tips I can get!"

My first impression of Francis was that he was flamboyant, seeing as how he moved his hands a lot when he spoke. My second impression was that he was an annoying git who had no sense of personal space, whatsoever. Both impressions were woefully accurate.

I reluctantly shook hands with Francis, having to wrench away my hand from him after he held it for an uncomfortable amount of time. Bloody pervert. "Yes, well, I'm afraid I don't do anything to my eyebrows. They're naturally thick like this. Although, I'm not sure if you're insulting or complimenting me about them…"

"Oh, that's too bad," Francis simpered.

I wrinkled my nose; Francis was wearing a very strong perfume. It was already giving me a headache. It looked like I had a long, _long_ year ahead of me. Remind me again why our personalities were deemed compatible by the residence coordinators?

"Haven't you heard of personal space?" I grumbled, backing away from the ogling Frenchman, whose face was _way_ too close to mine. "Good God, would it kill you to tone it down on the perfume? I can practically taste it. And what kind of nutjob wears a bathrobe mid-afternoon?"

"What's that?" Francis asked, grinning from ear to ear. "If we are to live together, then we must get used to being in each other's faces, non? And excuse you, I'll have you know that my perfume attracts all ze ladies and men. As for my robe? Casse toi. Anyone who wears a sweater vest has no right to criticize my sense of fashion. I am merely being comfy. I've seen Mormons with a better sense of fashion than you."

I turned around, shutting the front door. I then grabbed my two suitcases, intending to go to my room and unpack, alone. "Right, well, as nice as it is to get to know you by insulting each other's tastes, I really ought to settle in. I need to acquaint myself with where all my classes are."

"Allow me!" Francis purred, grabbing a suitcase from me, despite my protests. "When we're done helping you settle in, I can give you a tour. I've already been here for a week. It was so lonely, mon cher. Hardly anyone came until two days ago. I thought I was going to die from the boredom."

"You talk too much," I sighed, wrenching my suitcase back from him. "And I don't need your help _or_ your company."

"Is that really such a bad thing?" Francis pouted, motioning for me to hand him the suitcase again. The mongrel didn't know when to give up. "Stubbornness is not an attractive trait, you know," he lectured. "All people need the occasional company. It's simply not healthy to be by yourself for long periods of time. Voila! I'm doing you a favour by being your first friend here!"

"I said no!" I snapped. "I don't need your help. And you are most certainly _not_ my friend."

"Not yet, I'm not~"

"Look," I inhaled sharply. "Let me get something straight. I am not here to make friends with anyone, let alone you. I don't play well with others, so it's best if we just stay out of each other's way. I'm sure you're a great person under all that flamboyance and effeminate charm of yours, but I'll repeat myself again, since you seem to be hard of hearing and English is likely not your first language: I am not here to get cozy. I am here for my education, and that's it."

Francis whistled, speechless for once.

Taking advantage of this, I pulled out a folded sheet of paper from my jeans with my free hand. "Here," I scowled, handing him the paper.

"This is a set of rules I've come up with. You're not to go in my room or touch my things. There will be agreed times on when and who gets to use the bathroom. I don't tolerate uncleanliness, so we will also have to come up with a chore schedule. There will be no more smoking in this room; I _will_ report you to residence if you continue to do so, roommates or not, I owe you no loyalty or favors. Drink as much as you want, just don't expect me to bail you out if you do something stupid and get arrested. And absolutely no parties are to be thrown here; I'd rather not be kicked out this early in the year, or at all, in fact. I ask that you please respect my boundaries. Living together entails respect. Respect me, and I'll respect you. If you do all this, then I'm sure we will get along with each other just _fine_."

The residual smirk on Francis's face wavered. "Arthur, you are one strange man. But, I'm not unkind enough to not respect your wishes. I am a clean person myself, and I will smoke outside from now on, no probleme. I will also fill out these…uh…forms and come up with an appropriate schedule. It's a shame we can't become friends, though. I have a feeling it'll take a while for you to warm up to me, but there's nothing I can do about that, I suppose. I'll leave you to unpack then."

Francis patted my shoulder before turning and heading back into the living room.

I grit my teeth. "We're not becoming friends. I thought I already established that."

Francis looked up at me from the couch, evidently getting used to my anger. He seemed completely unfazed by it now. "We French have a way of getting what we want. Do not underestimate us. You're not misleading me, Mr. Kirkland, far from it. Behind every angry person, there is someone hurting inside. You care more than you let off. I've always liked myself a good mystery, it inspires my creativity as a writer. Somewhere deep inside that hedgehog exterior of yours, there is a nice person. I'll dedicate the rest of my year towards finding it if I have to."

I scoffed. "Wise words coming from a man in a bathrobe."

Bloody Frenchman and his big mouth. His croaking voice reminded me of a frog. Hmmm. Not bad. Not a bad insult at all…

"Non, it is coming from someone with experience."

I had no good retort to that. "Fine, think what you want. Just know you'll regret saying that. I always disappoint…"

Francis gave me a pitiful look.

I left him feeling disappointed with myself, go figure. If only he knew who I truly was as a person; he'd be asking for a new roommate in no time.

That, I was sure of.

…

After my snapping at him, I didn't hear from Francis again. I must have really perturbed him, seeing as how he had slipped the sheet with the bathroom and chore schedule under my bedroom door. Oh well, despite saying otherwise, it appeared that Francis had realized it was better to keep his distance from me. Kudos to him…

My dorm room was nothing special, harbouring a single twin bed, a meagre dresser, a window that overlooked a courtyard, and a foldable desk embedded in the wall. It was small, but _cozy_ ; I didn't have a need for that much of a space anyway. I felt in control in this room, nothing about it was overwhelming or all-encompassing.

 **BANG!**

I was busy unpacking my clothes on my bed, when a large bang resonated across the building, sounding as if it were coming from the hallway outside.

"Francis?" I called out hesitantly. Blast. I didn't like the guy, but that didn't mean I hated him.

"Francis are you all right? What was that noise?"

I walked into the living room, finding that Francis wasn't there. He wasn't in his bedroom – the door was open – or the bathroom either – I didn't really want to look too extensively in there, for obvious reasons. He must have gone elsewhere.

 **BANG!**

I jumped when another bang, this one much louder in volume, shook the walls.

Cussing under my breath, I left my dorm, standing in the hallway outside with my mouth held agape.

Two desperate, fearful voices down the hall bickered back and forth.

"Toni, I'm telling you! We need to get the fuck out of here! That's it, I'm calling room service."

"But, Gil! Getting assigned to a new room is going to cost us!" a second voice pouted with a whine. "Other than… 'this'…there's nothing wrong with the flat. They're not going to believe us that it's… it's…"

 **BANG!**

"HAUNTED! Ay, Dios mio!"

I walked across the hallway, knocking on the front door of where the frantic voices were coming from. It had been left wide open, but I still considered myself to have manners.

I cleared my throat. "Gentlemen, what seems to be the problem?"

The two other boys in the room – my floormates – latched their fearful gazes on me. One was tanned, lanky, with messy brown hair and light green eyes. The other, was buff, extremely pale, and had the most peculiar red eyes I had ever seen. Both were dressed in beach wear, despite the University's campus being in the middle of nowhere. My guess was that they were taking part in Fresher's week.

 **BANG!**

I looked to my right, spotting a wooden wardrobe at the edge of their small living room. The doors were clasped shut with a red bandanna, but by the way it was shaking, it looked like someone was trying to get out of it from the inside.

The pale one was the first to answer me. "We moved here last week, and every night, the wardrobe opens and shakes on its own. We've heard stories about the ghosts here, so we figured if we could stop the creaking, the spirit would eventually give up and move on. Now it just seems mad, so not awesome," he muttered, his voice thick with a German accent. "And just who are you exactly?"

"Arthur Kirkland, a pleasure," I lied, about the latter part, that is. I hated getting involved in other people's business, but I already knew what was going on here.

I stepped into the room, shaking hands with the pale one.

"Gilbert Beilschmidt," the pale one firmly clasped my hand. "And that guy over there is Antonio. Are you Fran's roommate? I think he mentioned something about having an English roommate."

Antonio was preoccupied with kissing the pendant of his cross necklace, murmuring prayers in what sounded to be Spanish.

"That I am," I admitted. "Unfortunately. And what is this nonsense about ghosts? They don't exist."

Gilbert scoffed in disbelief. "Are you not seeing that wardrobe move on its own right now?"

"I'm sure there's another explanation for that. A wild animal? Or perhaps the bolts are becoming loose and it's about to give way?" I proposed.

"Yo, what are you doing?!" Gilbert blurted, pale brows rising when I walked towards the wardrobe. "You're going to get yourself killed by that thing!"

Antonio shook his head back and forth, eyes wide like a small child. "Uh-oh, Franny isn't going to like us killing his roommate. I'll pray for you, amigo." And the Spaniard did just that, mentioning something about how my eyebrows were enough of a punishment to live with, unbeknownst to me.

"Quite the contrary," I smirked, untying the bandanna from the wardrobe. "I'll prove to you that nothing's in there. There's always a rational explanation for things like this."

I opened the wardrobe, glaring unamusedly into the empty space. "See? Nothing."

The bandanna dropped to the ground.

I stepped aside to let Gilbert and Antonio have a look inside. The shaking had stopped entirely.

"Vhat?" Gilbert spluttered in confusion.

"Yay! We're not going to die young now!" Antonio merrily exclaimed. "He must have scared it off!"

I ignored Antonio's latter comment.

"Best bet is to just get rid of the thing. I was right about the bolting, it looks like it'll cave any day now," I told them, dusting off my hands on my pants. "Well, now that that's out of the way, I best be off then. I still have much to unpack. See you around…" I hummed, waving over my shoulder.

Stunned, Gilbert and Antonio muttered their goodbyes.

"…Never," I mumbled to myself, walking back into the hallway outside.

I furrowed my brows angrily, knowing that a certain _something_ was following me. I refused to turn around and face it until I was in my own flat, out of the eavesdropping range of other, potentially nosy floormates.

I closed the door after me. That didn't stop the _something_ from floating right through it as if it were child's play. Quite literally, the ghost was a child.

I spun around, narrowing my eyes at the ghost I had found vacating Gilbert and Antonio's wardrobe. She looked to be about ten years old; scrawny, sharp-elbowed, missing several teeth, and had several scrapes up and down her arms. She had piercing green eyes, almost like mine oddly enough, blonde hair, which was tied in two high pigtails, and was dressed in a long-outdated green sundress. From the looks of it, she looked to be born in either the 1920s or 30s.

"You can see me," the girl accused, her voice shrill and angry. "How come you pretended that you couldn't?! Are you trying to make fun of me? Is that it?"

I sighed, walking over to sit on the couch. I had dealt with enough today, thank you very much. "No love," I murmured softly. "I can't let other people know because then they'd think I'm crazy. What's your name? Or, what do you prefer to go by?"

The girl floated to hover above the coffee table, crossly sticking up her chin at me. "You may call me Alice," she huffed.

"Well, Alice, you can call me Arthur. Pleased to meet you."

"I know that, you dummy! I heard you speaking to those other two twits."

"Come now," I tutted. "Is that the way your mother taught you how to address strangers?"

"N-no! Mummy always told me to be polite. B-But, I d-don't know where Mummy is anymore..." the ghost trailed off, a downcast expression on her face.

"I can help you find your Mummy, but have to promise to be completely honest with me."

The ghost looked up, eyes wide, revealing the vulnerability of a child who had been lost for who knows how many decades. "How do I know I can trust you?" she wavered, flicking in and out of sight.

"I've helped many spirits pass on to the other side. There's something keeping you here on Earth, Alice. Is there something bothering you? Something you never got to do when you were alive?"

"Well…there was one thing…"

"Take your time, love. I know this must be hard for you to recall."

There was something about children that made them invisible to my usual irritation. I had a lot of patience with them. I treated them in a manner in which I had never been treated as a child; I was kind and I listened to what they had to say. At the very least they deserved that.

My patience must have given Alice the confidence she needed to open up to me. She was finally breaking her silence, conversing with someone who could listen and respond to her unfortunate predicament.

"My friend Davie and I were having a picnic. Daddy used to be the Dean here. He didn't like Davie because he was an orphan. But I really liked Davie, so I always snuck food from the dining hall to take to him. We had to meet in secret because Daddy didn't approve of me meeting with him, unchaperoned.

"I never really cared for dresses. But Mummy did. She knew about my friendship with Davie, but she never told anyone. One day, we were having a picnic, and Davie wanted me to swim in the creek with him…he never told me he couldn't swim. The water was too deep for us, and I drowned trying to save him…"

Alice paused. I inhaled sharply, not daring to say a word.

"Mummy died because Daddy hit her too hard. He blamed her for my death. But, I never got to see Mummy when she died. She didn't become a ghost like me…and neither did little Davie. I'm the only one left of them. I'm sorry if I made you mad earlier. I just don't k-know what to do. Scaring people is the only thing that makes me feel…real."

"You don't have to justify yourself, Alice," I said warmly, my throat constricting. "I understand everything now."

The mother and Davie must have passed on, but Alice's spirit was still bound by past regrets.

"I guess I'm just angry about what happened to little Davie," Alice whispered. "He never got a proper funeral, whereas I did. It's not fair."

"Tell you what," I shuddered with a sigh. Dealing with ghosts never got any less emotional after the first few times. Alice's story was a grim reminder of how unfair and tragic life could be sometimes. "I'll throw a proper funeral for Davie for you. Was it James creek that you two…passed in? That's only a five-minute walk from here."

Alice's expression became hopeful again. "Yes. That's the place. Would you really do that for me?"

"Of course. If it gives you peace, I'd be more than happy to. You've been here for long enough, love. It's about time you reunited with your Mummy and Davie again. Wouldn't you like for that to happen?"

"Yes, but how do I do that?" Alice sniffled. "I've tried f-for so long…"

"You just have to trust me, Alice. If you can trust that I'll carry through with your wish to give Davie a proper funeral, then your spirit will be able to move on."

Alice's form began to fade, a good sign indeed. "Promise?"

I lifted a pinkie finger to the air, albeit the gesture only being symbolic. "Promise."

"Thank you, Arthur," Alice's eyes watered. "I'll never forget you. You were so kind to me. I don't know what I did to deserve such kindness. You're everything Mummy wanted me to be."

I chuckled. "I'm not all that I appear to be, but thank you for such a sweet sentiment. Now move along, dear. You can sense your soul being pulled elsewhere, can't you? Don't fight it. And don't worry, I'm sure your Mummy would be proud of you too. It takes someone with a big heart to wait this long for someone else. I admire that, truly."

"Goodbye, Arthur. Thank you again."

"Goodbye, Alice. God speed, and may your soul rest in peace."

I heard the faint murmur of final thank-you's before Alice disappeared for good.

I slumped down in my seat.

It was some time before I removed my hands from my face. Oh bloody, hell, I had been crying, hadn't I? How embarrassing.

Irritated, I grabbed a Kleenex from the coffee table and dabbed at my eyes and cheeks.

Francis leaned against the kitchen table, the creak of which caused me to look up. "Alas, you're not as bitter and mean as I had initially thought, mon petit hedgehog," he mused.

I furiously rubbed at my eyes. "Since when did you get here…wait? What the bollocks?! You can see ghosts too?!"

Francis sadly nodded his head. "Oui, it runs in my family. It must run in yours too, non? My family is very perceptive at picking up on les emotions aussi. Some of us are born matchmakers, like myself. We see the good in people, and match them to fill the void in our own lonely hearts. But, enough about that. Are you all right, Arthur? I only heard about half of that conversation, and that was more than enough to break my heart in two."

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," I snapped before lowering my voice. "Just. Fine."

"If you say so."

"Stop bloody patronizing me!"

"Fine, fine," Francis raised his hands in surrender.

"Don't get cheeky with me either," I growled to no one in particular, hardly audible.

"Call me crazy," Francis purred, walking to sit on the couch next to me. "as I am one to believe in fate, but we must have been brought together for a reason, non? I believe our similarities call for a truce."

I didn't like the suggestive look on Francis's face. Anything he did inevitably became sexual, the perv. "I know I said this already, but do you ever stop flapping your tongue, frog? There's nothing redemptive about you. Not even that 'glorious' hair of yours can salvage how obnoxious you are."

Francis laughed. "Ohonhonhon, that's a new insult I've never heard before. Arthur Kirkland, you are an absolute menace to be around."

I glared at him through eyes that were _not_ puffy.

"A good menace," Francis corrected himself, not that it really helped with anything. I still couldn't stand him.

"Arthur?"

"Wot?" I growled, my gaze latched on the ground.

"Do you think we could start over? Perhaps become friends? I haven't even known you for that long, and yet, I've never seen someone look so troubled…so lonely. Don't get me wrong, I'm not pitying you. It's just…if you ever need someone to talk to or even just to keep you company, I can be there for you. We'll be spending most of our year together, after all."

"One, I'm not lonely or troubled, I'm just naturally bitter like this," I snorted. "But, if you're so intent on getting to know me, I'll say this. I like my privacy. I anger easily, and can be selfish at times. I've made a horrible first impression on you, and I have no idea why you're bothering speaking to me now. But, if you're willing to look past all that, then maybe we can become friends, maybe."

I don't know what I was thinking, saying all of this. Maybe I was still vulnerable emotionally. Or maybe it was because I had found someone similar to me, no matter how grating. Perhaps Alistair was right. One 'friend' couldn't hurt.

I held out my hand for Francis to shake, daring to look him in the eyes again. The genuine affection in them made me blush due to the unfamiliarity of receiving such generous treatment, especially because of how awfully I had spoken to him earlier.

"Arthur Kirkland."

"Francis Bonnefoy, pleased to make your _acquaintance_."

That _cheeky_ little bugger.

…

I wasn't having your typical post-secondary Friday afternoon. Unlike most, I was spending it in the comforting silence of the school's grandiose library. It was held in an old castle, smelling of _old_ books, wood and dust; a stale scent that inevitably made you think the place was _old_. It was five stories tall, harbouring enough books to satisfy hundreds of lifetimes of reading. There were several stainless glass windows, reflecting the light of the meek, cloudy weather outside. The building was dim, just like how I preferred it to be – sunlight wasn't exactly my thing.

Yes, yes, we've already agreed that I'm a miserable, depressing person. Ahem, moving on.

This was my sanctum, a safe place if you will. I could already see myself spending most of my time here, outside of my front desk/ clerk position. As of now, I was being trained for such a position by a polite, young lad from Canada.

What was his name again?

Oh yes, right, Matthew. Matthew. _Matthew._

I couldn't forget that.

Matthew was showing me the different parts of the library, rolling around a cart full of books as he did so. Normally, I would protest to using technology in a place of standard print, as there was an iPad embedded in the cart, but with five floors of space to deal with, the gadget did come in handy for locating books and their respective sections. There was also the computer at the front desk, but I was willing to overlook that too. It was more out of necessity than excess to possess it.

Matthew spoke very softly, so I had to crane my neck just to hear him properly. "Not many people come here to borrow books, since most of our archives and subscriptions have already been made available online. I reckon the most work you'll be doing here is reorganizing the sections if the main librarian decides to become spontaneous," he chuckled softly.

"All the more easier of a job for us then," I smirked.

Matthew smiled softly at this, his strange violet eyes crinkling at the corners. He was a few inches taller than me in stature, lanky, and had pale, curly blond hair that fell to his shoulders. Despite wearing a bright red shirt, he seemed to blend in the shadows, nearly invisible to the naked eye. I blame his timid nature for not making him more noticeable.

"Say," I began, surprising myself by opting to start another conversation. Although, Matthew was a pleasant enough fellow to converse with. We were on our way back to the main floor, huddled in a rickety elevator that felt like it would collapse at any given moment.

"You look quite young to be a first year," I remarked. I was nineteen myself, having just finished my junior college studies a year later than planned. Let's just say there were a lot of family disruptions and personal problems that had caused such a setback.

"That's because I am," Matthew replied simply. "I just turned sixteen in July. I'm two years ahead in my studies. In Canada, we go up to grade twelve before being sent off to College or University. Maman, ah, ahem, my Mom and Grandma are alumina at this school. They didn't expect any less from me. I wanted to take a year off, but I'm a horrible pushover and try to please everyone. And, well, here I am now. I used to spend my summers working here anyway when we visited family, so it's not like I'm unfamiliar with the campus. Things could be worse," he shrugged, sighing.

"That's still not fair," I replied. Matthew was just a boy then. I felt a strange, paternal instinct kick around in the pit of my stomach just by looking at him. "You should have a say in how you go about your education. It's your life, Matthew. Are you not scared being the youngest one here, all on your own? I apologize if I'm being blunt, but I know how brutal people can be sometimes."

 _More like all the time._

"No worries," Matthew placed a hand on my shoulder. Damn him for being so tall. "I appreciate your concern, Arthur. But, I don't think I have to worry about any of that. I don't mind finishing my degree early, and it's not like I'm relevant enough for people to pick on. There's actually a rumour going around campus that there's a violet-eyed ghost haunting the library. Want to know who that ghost is? Yours truly," he mused, looking proud of himself as he pointed a backwards thumb at his chest.

We both chuckled a little at his expense.

The elevator dinged, and I helped Matthew roll the cart onto the main floor. "Although I haven't heard that specific rumour, I have heard that the library is the most haunted part of campus. Is that true?" I asked.

I already knew it was true, as I could feel the ghosts' presence, but I wanted to get more information on the subject.

I stopped the cart before the front desk, while Matthew skirted around to open the gate. After placing the cart in its respective place, Matthew leaned over the front counter, allowing his elbows to support most of his weight. He grimly nodded his head in response to my question.

"Unfortunately, that rumour is true," Matthew said sadly, eyes downcast. "Several students over the years have taken their lives by jumping off the roof," he paused to point up at the fifth and final floor of the library. "We don't have any accurate estimates, but some say it's close to between 15-30 students. And that's not even counting the first two centuries that this school was up and running."

My expression became grim as I continued to listen to him.

"The stress becomes too much for these people. The elite atmosphere here doesn't help either. So many people push themselves until they become mad and can't think properly anymore. They don't see any options of escape. No one wants to feel like they're a failure," Matthew said morosely, perking up slightly as he finished his tangent.

"Luckily, we haven't had any incidents like that for decades. It's a shame, because nothing is done until something horrible happens. At least now, we have programs to help with that. I know this is random and perhaps a bit invasive of me to suggest, but if you ever feel stressed and need to talk about it, there are plenty of resources available here to help with that."

Matthew handed me a red print card with a list of services scrawled on it. The first one that popped out to me was puppy stress therapy, how odd.

I accepted the card from Matthew, smiling faintly in gratitude as I slipped it into my wallet. "Thanks, lad. It sounds like you're speaking from experience?"

Matthew pursed his lips. "Yes, I volunteer in student services. _Someone_ has to start the conversation. The curriculum expects so much of the students here. This issue is also something very important to my family. A distant relative of mine committed suicide, and my Grandma has been adamant on speaking about it ever since. There's just such a heavy stigma surrounding it."

"I'm so sorry," I stammered, realizing I had pried too deep. "I think it's wonderful that you're dedicating your free time to such a noble cause. You're a sweet kid, Matthew. If only everyone else was as selfless as you, the world would be a much better place."

"Thank you," Matthew said earnestly. "Well, I still have some new books to enter into stock. It was nice talking to you, Arthur. I highly recommend walking around and familiarizing yourself with the place again. It took me at least a month not to get lost every five minutes."

"Anytime. Yes, I already planned on doing that. If I don't come down in forty minutes, feel free to send up a search squad for me," I joked lightly, knowing it wouldn't alleviate the heavy mood that had fallen between us.

"Will do," Matthew laughed, winking at me from behind his spectacles. "See you around."

I said my goodbyes, realizing I had just made another friend. Alistair would probably be throwing a party right now if he found out. The people here were just so kind and understanding. It threw me off, but in a good way. Perhaps there was hope for me, after all.

(This school was turning me into a bloody sap, that's what. First the frog, and now Matthew? What's next, befriending a buffoon with a poor sense of grammar?...I'll shut up now.)

After familiarizing myself with the library's floor spaces, I then went back to the fourth floor, where the school's archives were kept. Up until about three decades ago, the campus used to host an orphanage as part of its charity work.

I was flipping through the pages of an old catalogue, finding Davie's name after some time searching. He didn't have a last name. A young boy with slicked back hair and sad eyes looked into the camera, his face dusty and smudged, still visible under the grey monochrome of colours. I only knew it was him because there was an additional photo of him and Alice having a picnic with an adult woman, presumably Alice's mother. At least in the second photo, Davie was smiling. He had died in 1927, at the unfortunate age of seven.

I looked over my shoulder, and once affirming that no one was there to see me do this, I carefully ripped out the latter photo and pocketed it. I would be needing it once I had found the time to give Davie his funeral.

"Easy does it, old chap," I whispered. "Alice never forgot about you."

I was about to head downstairs when for some inexplicable reason, I felt the urge to explore the fifth floor, where the roof was.

I soon found myself standing before the entrance of the roof, dumbly looking at the suicide posters that were plastered against the stone wall. Matthew really hadn't been kidding about the scope of these deaths. Ahem, not that he had any reason to kid about such a dark and unfortunate topic.

My feet moved of their own accord as I opened the steel door, revealing a see-through glass tunnel with various shrubbery growing on the sides. The roof top was grand in space, the air cloudy and misty from the previous rainfall.

I stepped out of the tunnel, breathing in the clean air.

Regardless, something didn't feel right.

I walked towards the edge of the roof, palming the rough stone with both hands and looking below at the students scuttling below, like ants with a sense of purpose. I became nauseous suddenly, feeling my eyes cloud over. The spirits and emotions lurking here were beginning to overwhelm me. The ground appeared closer than what it actually was.

An invisible force was pushing me.

 _Do it. Do it. Do it._

 _NO. DON'T DO IT!_

I shook my head, closing my eyes. These weren't my thoughts. These were the thoughts of past doubts and regrets.

It took me a while before I finally gained control. The heavy atmosphere of the roof was suffocating, but it was manageable to deal with now that I knew what to expect. There weren't just 15-30 spirits here. There was plenty more, so much so that I was unable to count them all.

Even so, there was something fairly recent about this area that had the hair on the back of my neck standing up. If there was a spirit in need of passing on, then I was determined to find them, no matter how difficult it was to discern them from the rest of the memories residing here. It wasn't right to let them suffer in perpetual confusion; they belonged elsewhere.

I let go of the edge of the roof, turning around, only to jump back like a cat who had been spooked when I spotted a student sitting on one of the metal benches lying about.

"Jesus, Roosevelt Christ!" I swore, clutching at my chest. "Where in the bloody hell did you come from?!"

The other student on the roof appeared to be just as frightened as I was. He was in mid-bite of eating his PB & J sandwich, hunched over with his elbows resting on his thighs. A note pad with several pens on top was resting next to his lap.

For a brief moment, I thought the student was Matthew. An additional two seconds of looking at him, however, changed that opinion. He had wheat-blond hair that was slicked back, save for one stray cowlick sticking up from the rest of his head, blue eyes hidden by wired spectacles, and was much bigger and muscular in build than Matthew was, albeit being just as tall.

Most strange about him was the clothes he wore – an old brown leather bomber jacket, denim jeans that were folded at the bottom and black pointed loafers. He was a hipster if I ever saw one.

I stared at the boy on the bench, waiting for him to answer me. He didn't but rather just stared at me like a deer in the headlights, holding up his sandwich in disbelief and briefly looking over his shoulders to affirm that there was no one behind him.

"Hello?!" I snapped. "Usually people speak when they're spoken to."

The boy coughed out his sandwich, hacking for air as he placed it back into a food container. When he regained his breath, red-faced, he waved his hands back forth in exasperation. There were still several crumbs on his mouth. "Dude! I've been here the whole time! Holy crap, you really know how to scare a guy, don't ya? So not cool, yo!"

A brief moment of silence enveloped between us. The boy couldn't stop staring at me incredulously, testing me, analyzing me. Actually, now that I think of it, he was likely just ogling at my eyebrows, the little twat. Or should I say yank? He had a very strong American accent.

I rolled my eyes. "What in God's name are you doing up here alone?"

The boy crossed his arms, pouting childishly. "I could ask you the same question, dude," he said through puckered lips. "But, if you must know. I use this place for writing inspiration. Usually, no one comes up here, and I go _uninterrupted, ahem_."

The boy's expression became flat. I could take a hint, but his implied rudeness would have to take a rain check for now. There was still some things I wanted to know.

I furrowed my brows. Did the yank not see the suicide posters lying around? This was perhaps the worst, most depressing place to draw inspiration from. At least I didn't have to be concerned about him, regardless of how strange and poor his grammar was.

"I work at the library," I defended, taking a step closer to him.

The boy abruptly stood up from the bench, scrambling backwards and nearly tripping over his feet as he moronically waved his hands at me to stop. "Woah there, dude!" he shouted, causing my ears to ring from how loud his voice was.

"This is a no-people zone. I can't have you coming close and messing up my mojo, ya hear? Stay back! I'm not kidding! I need to be in the mood to write. I can't have you ruining it! Haven't you ever h-heard of personal space?!"

I held up my hands in surrender. "All right, all right, I won't come any closer, no matter how ridiculous the reason."

There were those pouted lips again. "Hey! You're being rude, dude."

"And another thing," I furrowed my brows in confusion. "What are you wearing?"

"Huh?" the boy spluttered bluntly, following my gaze to look down at his bomber jacket. "Oh this? This was my Pop's and, uh, my Gramps before that."

"Yes, but why are you wearing it?" I asked him patiently.

"Dude, I hardly know you. What's with all the questions? Are you sure you don't secretly work for the CIA? I'm innocent, I s-swear!"

"What? No, I'm just curious. It isn't every day I come across such an odd figure," I mused. It was unbelievable how easy it was to make this boy flustered. I'll admit, I was having some mild fun with this interrogation.

"I'm writing a story about WW2," the boy huffed. "I need to feel the part if I'm to write it. And you're the one to talk. I've seen bathroom rugs more attractive than that sweater vest of yours."

"Oi!" I snapped. "You don't see me making fun of your outfit."

"No, but you did give me a strange look."

"How could I not?! It's not everyday you find someone who takes their writing to this extreme. I'm intrigued, that's all."

"Well, Mr. Intrigued, the name's Alfred. Alfred Jones."

I was beginning to like this boy less and less by the minute.

"Arthur, Arthur Kirkland."

Alfred trudged back to the bench, opening his journal to a page with messily scrawled jot-notes on it. "Great! Now that we're introduced, I'll ask you _kindly_ to _stop_ speaking. I've got a lot of ideas running through my head, dude of Arthur, sir sass-a-lot. I can't let them slip away."

"Honestly, you are _such_ a bizarre person. I don't under-"

"Shhh! Can't you see that a dude's trying to write?"

"Is dude the only word you know?" I spluttered.

"Just trying to keep up with the times, dude. Maybe you should try it," Alfred muttered, not even bothering to look up at me. "Now, scram. Or at least stop talking for like five minutes. No wonder America wanted its independence. You Brits never stop talking with your overcomplicated laws, and fancy 'posh' language."

Alfred said 'posh' in a horrible impression of a British accent. I was not amused.

"Fine," I growled. "I'll leave you be. I was beginning to lose a few brain cells anyway. It boggles my mind how you can call yourself a writer when you speak with such poor grammar. You're a living oxymoron."

Alfred must have been in his so-called mojo, because he didn't look up to usher his retort.

Instead, I busied myself with looking around the rooftop, trying to sense anything that seemed at odds. What a futile task that was. Everything was wrong with this place. There was so much going on that it was hard to pinpoint the one thing that was setting me off.

After looking at the asphalt below, unable to come up with a viable reason for the weird aura of this place, I turned on my heels and left the edge of the roof.

Alfred had his tongue poking out of his mouth as he scribbled away in his notebook. When he saw that I was leaving, he cocked up his head to look at me. "Hey, are you all right?" he asked, setting down his notebook on the bench. "You look like something's bothering you."

"I thought we weren't speaking," I responded dryly, snorting.

"Erm, I'm done writing, if it's any consolation," Alfred admitted, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. "Are you sad about something, Arthur? Worried? If so, I completely understand what you're feeling. I'm starting my first year too, just turned 18. Mom enrolled me a year early in school. Um, ah, sorry, hahaha, I have a bad habit of rambling when I'm nervous. I guess it's just nice to have someone to speak to, now that I think of it. I don't have no friends here."

"And you're assuming I don't either?" I asked him crossly.

"N-no!" Alfred blurted out, causing me to smirk. "It's just, everyone should have a friend. You look like you could use one. That grumpy expression on your face makes you look ten years older than you actually are. I almost mistook you for an accountant. You might want to fix that about yourself, it's _real_ scary."

"Do I seriously look that lonely and miserable?"

Alfred's expression became sheepish again.

"Oh, bollocks," I sighed. "Besides, how can we become 'friends' if I can't even go near you?"

I don't know why, but I felt like I could trust Alfred. There was something that was just so…pure about him. I couldn't describe it. He just seemed relatable. This roof top was his safe space, and he was trusting me with it.

Alfred bowed his head. "Sorry, dude. I like my personal space. But that doesn't mean we can't chat. I'm always open to talk to people, that is when I'm not writing of course."

"Hmmph," I breathed. "Well then, Mr. Jones, let's chat. Why is it do you come up here to write?"

I sat on the bench across from him, respecting his wishes not to get too close. I crossed my legs and turned my torso to face him. He truly did have the most brilliant, cerulean blue eyes I had ever seen. They carried so much light and hope in them, despite how shy and flustered Alfred was acting. I could tell he was uncomfortable with speaking to strangers. Kudos to him for putting himself out there. If he hadn't initiated this second conversation, I would have likely retreated back into the library without another word.

"Um…" Alfred stalled, awkwardly swallowing. "It's nice and quiet up here. It helps me think clearer."

"Fair enough," I nodded my head. "I myself prefer a quiet place too. Although, my first choice most certainly wouldn't be a supposedly haunted library roof top. I'll repeat myself again, Alfred. You're a bizarre character. I don't think I've met anyone like you."

"D-dude," Alfred's face paled. "Don't speak about the spirits so loudly," he whispered, wide-eyed as he gestured around the roof. "They don't like it when you talk about them. It makes them angry. If you leave them be, they won't bother ya."

"You're not scared of ghosts, are you?" I mused.

"N-no!"

Translation: the yank was indeed scared of ghosts.

"Don't be silly, Alfred," I chuckled.

"I'm not! I'm being serious!" Alfred fumed, pouting those childish lips again, cheeks puffing out comically. "Why are you up here anyway?"

"Curiosity, I suppose," I answered him. "I wanted to test the rumours about these alleged spirits." I dropped my voice to a whisper, sarcastically making air-quotes with my fingers. "But thus far, all I've found is a yank with poor grammar, a half-eaten PB & J sandwich that has seen better years, and the stale smell of hamburgers. Seriously, why is that?"

Alfred avoided looking at me. Apparently, the lacquer of his shoes was more interesting. "Who knows," he grumbled, clearly guilty. "Hey, Arthur?"

"Yes?"

"You're a funny guy. I think I like you."

"That better not be a crack at my eyebrows," I warned.

"What? No! But oh man, how did I not notice those before?!"

Alfred smiled for the first time, revealing a straight row of perfect white teeth. His entire face changed. It suited him. It was hard not to smile when he looked this happy and sunny, reminding me of a large, clumsy puppy as he slapped a hand against his thigh.

If the joke hadn't been at my expense, I would have likely laughed too. His joy was nearly contagious. So much so, that I felt a weird lump at the back of my throat. Someone actually liked me. _Me._ Who would have thought?

"God, you're such a child," I scoffed, stubbornly refusing to laugh.

Alfred held up his hands in surrender. "Okay…ahahhaha. I'm done. Pft! I'm done. Really though, they're not that bad. Besides, you have pretty eyes to make up for them."

I felt my face heat. "Bloody bastard. Trying to compliment me as if it'll fix anything."

"No! I mean it, seriously!" Alfred protested. "You're a cool dude. It's funny talking to you, even if you did get in the way of my writing."

"Oh, let it go will you?"

"Why do you always have to be so grumpy?" Alfred whined. "Can't we get along with each other?"

"Easier said than done when you're constantly insulting me," I huffed, standing up from the bench.

"Hey! Where are you going?!"

"I told you I work at the library, didn't I? I'm still familiarizing myself with the place. Not everyone can lounge around all day, doing nothing."

"Writing ain't doing nothing."

"Whatever," I groaned. "I have to go now. It was er, nice 'chatting' with you." I would have held out my hands to shake with Alfred, but he didn't seem to be very keen on the idea. He was even weirder than I was.

"Perhaps, I'll see you in class?" I asked. "I'm a first year too."

"Nah, I'm in a special program with about five other students or so. You're not in it, are ya?"

"No." – I didn't even know the school had a specialized program, seeing as how few the students were in number. I'd have to look into it; the less people to deal with the better.

"In that case, perhaps I'll see you here again?" I raised a brow at Alfred in question. As usual, he was switching from looking me in the eye to not looking at me at all. He was fidgety and shy, but had a lot of energy to blow off. He was just full of contradictions – a complete and utter mess if you ask me.

"Dude, no! I already called dibs on this place! It's where I've been writing, for uh, the past week! You're not going to hog it, are ya?"

"No, but this does seem like a good place to have lunch," I lied, revelling in the disgruntled expression on Alfred's face.

I languidly waved at Alfred over my shoulder. "Bye now."

"Bye," Alfred grumbled through, yes, you guessed it, pouted lips.

Now, back to that previous lie of mine.

There was something wrong going on in this roof top. Whether it was a spirit in trouble, a haunting, or anything of the like, I was determined to find out what exactly was causing me to feel so eerie and dreadfully hopeless.

And no grammarless yank was about to stop me from doing that.

 **To be continued...**

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 **Word Count: 11, 407**

 **19 Pages**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N** : Hello everyone :) Yes, it's been ten years since I last updated :/ But this chapter is over 12,000 words, so yeah, hopefully this makes up for my absence. Before you read:

 **TRIGGER WARNING:** Mentions of suicide and homophobia. Take care of yourself first if you're sensitive to this type of material.

Some of you have already sent me your theories about the plot. I'm intrigued! If you have one, share it! Have a great day/ night!

* * *

 **Chapter 2:**

Classes had begun, which meant that the earlier excitement of starting fresh was completely forgotten about. Early morning lectures drained all energy from the student populace. All that was left was a solemn, grumpy mood as hungover students and nerds alike tried to keep their eyes open and listen to the lecturer standing at the front of the auditorium.

Syllabus week wasn't a thing at this university. After the first class, we were automatically expected to purchase our textbooks and complete our readings for the next lecture. It all went by in a panicked blur, as I thought that I would have more time to settle into post-secondary life, as opposed to being thrust right into it.

Not being one to allow myself to fall behind, I had stayed up late the past two nights to get one week ahead of my readings, leaving room for upcoming writing assignments that were scheduled near the end of the month. I was a very organized person, and easily got overwhelmed if I wasn't on top of things.

You can only guess how irritated I became with Francis for constantly messing up my schedule. He was a night-owl, whereas I liked to get up early in the morning and finish my work as _early_ in the day as possible. The frog also had an insufferable habit of partying, and we've only known each other for a week and a half. More often than not, he would come home piss drunk, whining about how he wanted us to be friends.

Hence, the reason I locked myself in my room most of the time. I only came out to go to the washroom, eat, or leave for class. Francis had taken primarily later classes, but unfortunately, we were taking the same English literature 101 course, which was slotted at 2:30-4:00 PM.

The Frenchman was still adamant on getting to know me, and although he was rumoured to be a clever and beautiful writer, he was as dense as a block when it came to taking a hint. Well, it was either that or he was a stubborn mule.

He kept trying to help me with things, insisting that I wasn't taking care of myself properly. Apparently, microwaved potatoes wasn't a sufficient enough dinner. Francis's family was pretty well off, and since I was practically disowned by my own, I was living on a strict college budget. I still nonetheless refused any of Francis's offers to share his food with me.

I didn't like owing people anything. I looked after myself, and preferred to keep a good distance from others. It was easier that way, but Francis liked making things difficult by acting as the mother hen of our shared dorm room, incessantly patronizing me. Everything I did was wrong; how I styled my hair; how I dressed; how I ate; how I cooked; how I studied and left little room to have a social life.

Though he may have meant well, annoying and grating as he may be, Francis would soon come to realize that I wasn't worth his time. I've always been better off on my own. Of course, this didn't mean that I couldn't be pleasant or polite when spoken to. Thing is, I liked my space, and wanted to keep my interactions with people to a minimum.

I decided that I wouldn't have friends. I would make acquaintances, people who I spoke to only when we were in class. It required much less emotional commitment, and that way I wouldn't always be lonely. I'm not delusional. I'm aware that humans are social beings and do in fact need _some_ interaction.

However, friends entailed the possibility of getting attached, being hurt, and suffering from painful separations. I was a very sensitive person. I had experienced enough rejection to last a lifetime. I simply didn't have the energy to unequivocally trust people again, to give them the benefit of the doubt and to let them into my life with out-stretched arms.

For me, going to class, ignoring Francis, and speaking occasionally with Matthew when I worked at the library on the weekends was more than enough for an introvert like me. Being out and about took a lot of energy, and I would often come home exhausted and drained, only to force myself to tough it through a textbook reading.

My first ten days here weren't enough to pick up a full routine, but I was managing well enough. The job at the library was relaxing, although I often got headaches from all the spirits clouding the area.

Regardless, the library still acted as my safe place, as hardly any students used the books there, preferring the available online PDF versions instead.

What was most troubling was that I have yet to figure out what was causing me to feel so uneasy on the library's rooftop. It didn't help that Alfred was always there, screeching like a banshee the moment I came too close and messed up his "writing mojo".

The American sure was an oddball, confusing me to no end. One minute, he would act panicked, his cerulean eyes darting back and forth anxiously, and then he would become vibrant and cheerful, laughing and making jokes as he tried to cheer me up and get rid of the frown on my face. He was like Francis; constantly asking how I was doing, if I was okay, and if I needed to talk about anything. Honestly, it was like my depression wasn't even trying to hide itself.

Still, whenever I attempted to move closer to Alfred, he would vehemently refuse and ask that I not proceed forward. Extraverted as he may play himself off to be, he was still very much a writer in the sense that he liked his personal space. I respected his wishes, but couldn't help but notice that perhaps his anxiety was more of a phobia.

He became skittish around people, and the rooftop wasn't a place where many people came. Not to mention that he was enrolled in private classes with very few students in it. I wouldn't be surprised if Alfred had mild anthropophobia. Obviously, I wasn't a professional, but it really did seem like he was afraid to get physically close to other people. If I sat on the bench near him, he would fidget and avoid looking me in the eye. It was only when I was by the edge of the roof, a safe distance from him, that he dared to make eye contact.

Sure enough, I would figure out what was happening on the roof and give him as much space as he needed. Alfred was as much quiet as he was loud, shy as he was outgoing. He was a contradictory mess of emotions, but was still very much a kind soul. I could tell he was trying to engage in conversation with me, so, in turn, I tried to be extra patient with him. It was just hard to when he constantly blurted out things at the top of his mind without filtering his thoughts. I can't even count the amount of times he's commented on my eyebrows…

For now, I would just have to put up with Alfred's nervous babbling. He wasn't horrible company mind you, but he did have his cocky moments where I had to repress the urge to throttle him.

If things went according to plan, I would find the spirit in need of aid and wouldn't have to bother Alfred ever again. I could only stand on the rooftop for so long without getting a massive headache anyway, so it was best to get this mystery solved and over with.

(There was always the possibility of this case lingering for a much longer time, but I tried not to think about that.)

Speaking of headaches, I was presently sitting in my literature 101 class, forcing myself to listen to the droning voice of the professor standing below. The auditorium we were in was colossal, hosting close to 200 students. Every first year was in this class, as it was the only slot available.

The sunlight pouring in from the window at the back of the slanted room only made me feel more tired. Hardly anyone was listening, but the professor didn't seem to care. He was paid to teach and do research on the side. It wasn't his job to ensure that us students were actually learning the material.

I took a sip out of my afternoon tea, hoping that the caffeine would help me overcome my mid-afternoon slump. It was three thirty (thankfully, my last class of the day), meaning that there was still a good twenty minutes before the professor would let us out of the room.

I was diligently taking notes, although I wasn't truly listening, but rather, just typing everything that the professor said like a thoughtless robot. My dream of taking hand-written notes were shattered the moment I realized how fast and merciless the professors were when they went through a lesson. They went at their own pace, which was unreasonably fast, and didn't give a damn if someone didn't copy down the material in time.

Typing was my only way of salvaging everything discussed in the class.

I moved to grab my tea again, but accidently brushed elbows with the student next to me, who had also been reaching for his caffeinated saviour, a cup of coffee from Starbucks. I couldn't afford to purchase something like that everyday, and was instead forced to make use of a stainless-steel thermos that kept the tea I had brewed earlier in the morning decently warm.

"Sorry mate," I whispered an apology to Lovino.

Lovino shrugged in response, tipping back his cup of coffee. His hazel eyes looked beyond tired. He was the kind of person who preferred sleeping in until mid-afternoon. Despite his fancy dress wear, which consisted of a strictly pressed olive blouse, a snazzy pair of black denim jeans, and matching dress loafers, Lovino's hair had probably seen better days. He must have just woken up before this class, judging by how his reddish-brown hair stuck up in all directions possible, especially this one unruly curl that defied all possible laws of gravity.

I felt quite inferior in comparison with my plain green hoodie, ripped jeans, and black trainers that were embarrassingly worn out.

Letting out a satisfied grunt, Lovino then leaned over to see what I had written down on my laptop screen. "This geezer needs to learn how to slow the fuck down," he muttered bitterly, moving his own laptop closer so that he could type out what he had missed while he had been finishing the last of his coffee.

I smirked. "Easier said than done. The chap clearly loves the sound of his own voice."

"Che, true that," Lovino grumbled, furrowing his brows in concentration. As an Italian international student, English wasn't his first language. It wasn't that he had trouble speaking or writing it, but it was hard for him to understand and make sense of our Lit professor's thick accent. I was more than willing to help him out, as I wasn't a total anti-social asshat.

Lovino and I had met on the first day of class. We had been asked to introduce ourselves to the person sitting next to us, and he had just so happened to be sitting next to me. I had every one of my classes with him, so it was only natural for us to become classroom buddies. We weren't friends, as we didn't speak much, but we helped each other out with notes, and sat next to each other all the time.

We both weren't very social people, swore a lot, and were easily annoyed by how loud and over the top the rest of our classmates were. Another trait we had in common was that we attracted annoying bastards.

Lovino raised his right wrist, pretending to check his fancy Rolex wrist watch. It was code for us that we were being stared at by a certain pair of imbeciles. We couldn't talk in class, otherwise we would get thrown out.

"Perverted bastard at two o'clock," Lovino whispered.

I locked my laptop screen, catching Francis's smug smile from two rows behind me.

He was sitting with our floormate, Antonio, both of whom were blowing air kisses at Lovino and myself. The pair, along with Gilbert, who was for some reason absent from this lesson, had become close friends. Three idiots together practically spelled nightmare. I had just about had it up to here with them barging in on my apartment, looking for Francis without so much as having the decency to knock.

I felt my lips and eyes twitch in irritation. Lovino's did as well. Antonio had taken a fancy to the fiery Italian, and no amount of swearing, kicking, or screaming would scare the dopey Spaniard away. The only reason they were sitting so far from us was because we had all almost gotten kicked out yesterday for causing a disturbance in class. Said disturbance had entailed Lovino violently kicking Antonio in the shin.

Not long after, I received a text from Francis. I should mention that he had stolen my phone number before I had even had the chance to give it to him. We were roommates, so it was necessary to be able to have constant contact with him. Francis, however, liked physical contact a lot more, pushing his stupid well-groomed stubble-covered mug in front of me at every possible opportunity.

 _Bonjour, mon petit hedgehog ;))))))_

 _Would you care to share your notes with moi?_

 _I do not understand ze black sheep accents._

 _The professor is tres confusing._

Putting on my deadliest glare, I briefly turned around and stuck up my three-most inner fingers at Francis.

Antonio cocked his head to the side, reminding me of a ditsy puppy. Two seconds later, his attention shifted to the back of Lovino's head and quickly reddening neck again.

Satisfied with Francis's own confused reaction, I looked away and resumed paying attention to the lecture. Expectedly, I was interrupted a mere thirty seconds later with another text from Francis.

 _Quoi? What does that hand gesture mean?_

I evilly pursed my lips. Discretely, I shot Francis a quick reply: **Read between the lines, you insufferable baguette tit**.

In other words, I was politely telling him to eff off.

I didn't receive another text from Francis after that. This wasn't surprising, seeing as how there was only ten minutes of the lecture left. Most professors liked to take this time to passive aggressively cram all the important information in, screwing over those lazy students who had chosen to leave early.

When the class was dismissed, Lovino and I exchanged knowing glances before bolting down the aisles, heading for the auditorium's exit with two literal devils on our trails. We had packed our stuff fifteen minutes in advance in preparation for this mad-dash.

Tragically, Lovino and I weren't successful in our grand escape. A yelp behind me indicated that Antonio had caught up with Lovino.

"Let go, you fucking bastard! Haven't you ever heard of personal space?!" Lovino snarled, sticking up his sharp nose to the air. He aimed an elbow at Antonio's ribcage, procuring a pained oomph from the Spaniard.

This still didn't stop Antonio from wrapping a friendly arm over Lovino's shoulders. "Come on, Lovi. Let's go out for lunch, my treat. I know you take good notes, so consider this as your payment. Also, that blush on your face isn't fooling me. You didn't seem to mind me when we made out at that party two nights ago, hmmmm? Don't think you can walk out on me like that so easily," he purred, his voice as smooth as velvet.

"Fine, but only because I'm starving, you hear me?! Oh, for the love of fuck, wipe that smug-ass smirk off your face. I'm doing this to humor you. What happened at that party means nothing, absolutely nothing!" Lovino fumed, sourly letting Antonio lead him towards the opposite exit of the building, the one that led towards the restaurant strip area of the campus.

I didn't have time to send up a prayer for Lovino, even if it did appear that something intimate between him and Antonio had happened, as I was attacked by a certain rabid Frenchman.

I could hear the clack of his dress shoes get closer, and then… I blacked out.

"Arthur~!" Francis squealed, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. My knees buckled under his weight, causing me to fall forward slightly. My feet moved of their own accord; I was numb, no frozen. Not even the putrid scent of Francis's cologne could provoke a reaction out of me.

"What do you say to going out to dinner this Friday? We've lived with each other for nearly two weeks, and I have yet to see you go out and enjoy yourself! University is supposed to be the time of our lives, mon ami! You won't have any interesting experiences to look back on if you never leave our apartment," Francis chided, leaning his face closer so that his hair tickled my right cheek.

"Francis," I whispered. "Please, let go of me."

Francis didn't hear me. "I'm thinking about dinner and a movie, actually. Then we can go back to our apartment and enjoy some wine as we chat away into the night, revealing our most intimate secrets to each other. I want to get to know the lovely mystery that is Arthur Kirkland," he mused.

"Francis," I grit my teeth. "I don't like being touched."

Francis heard me loud and clear this time. That didn't mean he was truly listening, though. He wasn't looking at the fear in my eyes, nor was he paying attention to how rigid my stature had become. "No worries, Angleterre," he tried to reassure me. "I won't ever take advantage of you if that's what you're concerned with. You'll warm up to me eventually. You see, I enjoy being close to other people. It's how you form bonds and friendships that will last a lifetime."

"Well, I don't," I warned. My hands began to twitch; I had no control over it. It was a defensive mechanism that I had acquired a long time ago.

"Oh, come now, surely I'm not bothering you that much," Francis sighed. "This shyness of yours is unreasonable. I'll never understand how one can live holed up in their room all the time. It's healthy to have the occasional company and-"

"BUT IT IS!" I screeched, stopping in my tracks as I practically flung Francis's arm off my shoulders. I spun on my heels to angrily confront his stunned expression.

"Are you dense?!" I shouted. "I told you three times to let go of me and you didn't! Did it not come across to you that I was uncomfortable? Stop acting like you have the right to be my friend. You've done nothing but piss me off and belittle me constantly. I don't need you or your miserable shitty company, so you can fuck right off!"

Students passing by in the hallway outside the lecture rooms stopped to stare at Francis and I, wide-eyed at my outburst. Embarrassed, I turned my back to Francis, biting my lip.

Francis chuckled nervously before walking up to me again. I was shaking, the hand that wasn't carrying my laptop case clenched into a tight ball, puncturing the surface of the skin with my nails. Francis reached out to touch my shoulder, but thought better of it when I flinched away from his hand.

"I'm sorry," I snapped, holding back tears. "I just don't like it when people get touchy with me. It makes me uncomfortable. I just wish that I didn't have to yell at you and make a total ass out of myself to get that through to your thick skull."

"Oh Arthur, I'm so sorry to have made you uncomfortable. It's the last thing I intended to do," Francis apologized. "It's not your fault. I didn't realize I had gone too far. I won't do something like that again. Are you all right, you're shaking? Is there anything I can do to help? There's no need to feel ashamed, I pushed you when I shouldn't have. You weren't being an ass at all. Ah, mon dieu. Arthur, speak to me, please. I must know if you're okay," he rambled.

I refused to look at the concerned sapphire blue eyes that were burning holes into the side of my face.

"I'm fine, just leave me alone," I said, stomping forward. "Just don't expect me to talk to you when I get home. I'm still furious with you."

"Wait, Arthur!" Francis called after me, but I was already pushing through the crowd of students, intending to get as far away from the English building as possible.

I felt utterly humiliated. Several tears streaked down my face, which only drew more attention to myself. I hated how weak I was. It's just, when Francis leapt at me from behind, I was reminded of several horrible memories that I've worked so hard to repress.

At home, I was hardly spoken to. I was constantly hip or shoulder checked if I got in the way. To them, I was just a waste of space, unworthy of being respected. I was thrown around like a rag doll, unacknowledged. I was broken and beaten on the inside, with several old bruises on the outside from the times where I had 'accidentally' fallen down the stairs or bumped into something. My family lied when they said that they had accepted me for who I was.

It was a betrayal and hurt I would never forget, something that I would always carry with me. What they did tainted every future relationship or interaction that I had with other people and I despised them for it. The wounds may have faded, but the harm to my character and pride would haunt me for the rest of my life.

 **SLAM!**

I pushed open the entrance doors of the Literature building.

I blinked harshly at the sunlight outside, scowling. Rather than typical rainy English weather, the campus was known for having most storms pass right over it – I had learned that fast in my short time spent here thus far. What I needed now was darkness, something to make me feel better… to hide away from my foul mood and not see how miserable I looked.

As if the Gods were testing me, Alistair decided to call me. I ignored him and put his call to voicemail. It wasn't the end of the week yet, and I wasn't nearly in the right state of mind to be speaking to him. I knew my brother. If he heard how high strung I was now, he would be here in no time, ready to check me into some bullshit psychiatric institution. Living in another country wouldn't stop him; he was just as stubborn as I was.

He was worried about me, but he didn't need to be _that_ worried. I would never even think about committing suicide or harming myself. Instead, I closed myself off and avoided others, choosing to drown in self-hatred as a safer but no less healthier alternative to projecting this loathing onto myself and on others.

I needed a distraction right now, anything really. I suppose that's why I found myself standing in front of the library. For the past two days, I've been going there to study and do my readings.

Although I wasn't scheduled for work today, I wanted to do something, to be productive in the hopes that it would take away the guilt. What I had just done was shitty. I shouldn't have yelled at Francis like that. Yes, he was a complete dunce for not listening to me, but… he had looked so hurt when I raised my voice at him.

Shit.

Everything was just going so terribly wrong.

I raised my sleeve to wipe at my eyes before entering the library. A cool blast of the building's air conditioning hit my face, causing me to shiver. My anxiousness lessened considerably, as I knew that there weren't as many people to stare at me in here.

I had hoped to find the front desk empty. That way, I could grab a few cleaning supplies and get to work on cleaning the bookshelves without being hindered or having to speak to anyone and explain why I was crying.

Preposterous as it was, cleaning was what I did most as a library assistant. Books were hardly taken out, and the building was old enough that it had accumulated a ton of dust and cobwebs that were in desperate need of being cleared up. I had five floors to go through, and would likely be spending my whole undergraduate degree cleaning the space. It was an oddly therapeutic activity; it kept my mind busy.

It was just my luck that Matthew was sitting behind the front desk, clad in his typical baggy wool sweater that was a different shade of red every day. He stood up immediately when he caught my gaze, parting open his lips in concern.

"Arthur?" he asked.

I ignored him, opening the side door to let myself behind the front desk. I bent over, placing my laptop case in the shelf where we kept our personal belongs. I then grabbed several cleaning supplies, consisting of a rag, a windex bottle, and a feather duster.

I stood up, looking at the ground as I addressed Matthew. "I know I'm not on shift. I had some extra time, so I thought I would help out and clean. I won't record my hours, I'm doing this for free."

I moved to leave the area behind the front desk, but Matthew stepped in front of me. "Now, wait a minute, Arthur. I don't want you going anywhere just yet. Why don't you sit down for a bit? You look really high strung. Take a chance to relax a little, eh? You're always pushing yourself so hard, it can't be good for you, let alone anyone."

Numbly, I allowed Matthew to sit me in the leather swivel chair placed before the main computer log.

Meanwhile, Matthew leaned against the side-wall of the front desk, his hips resting near a wooden shelf. "Would you like a cookie, or should I say, 'biscuit'?" he asked, cocking his head towards the counter, where a plate of 'cookies' lay, a wry, shy smile on his face.

"Don't question it, just eat. I'll explain later," he encouraged, smiling as he grabbed the plate and offered me a biscuit.

I accepted one, taking a half-hearted nibble from it. It was delicious; chocolate chip. Once I was finished eating, the silence between us became unnerving.

I didn't appreciate how Matthew was staring at me either. "Well, aren't you going to ask me what's wrong?" I snapped, thoroughly irritated by how quiet he was being. "The whole rest of the school seems to have no problem being nosy."

Obviously, that was an exaggeration. I was angry and wasn't making any real sense.

"I wasn't going to unless you wanted to talk about it," Matthew answered. "I think it's safe to say that you came here to keep yourself busy. I don't mind you cleaning, I just hope that whatever's bothering you works itself out. I'm here if you need to talk, though, don't get me wrong. I just don't believe in forcefully confronting someone. Whenever I'm feeling down, sweets always cheer me up."

"Oh," I huffed, my face flushing. I felt awful for lashing out at him like that, especially when he was nothing but kind and patient to me. "That's so… sweet of you. Thank you, I respect that a lot. I just might take you up on that offer one day… the world _seriously_ needs more people like you."

I didn't know what else to say. Even admitting that made me feel anxious. I nervously fidgeted with my hands.

Matthew timidly shook his head, his cheeks painted a light pink. "Who, me? I'm not really doing anything all that important. It's not that hard to be a decent person to someone. I'm just glad you're feeling better now. Ah, you are feeling better, right?"

"Yes," I smiled faintly. "I am, thank you again. I wouldn't sell yourself short. There are plenty of people who don't have an ounce of kindness or understanding in them."

Matthew's violet eyes gleamed with warmth. I gave him a sheepish glance, too shy to apologize. He reciprocated with a soft expression, non-verbally communicating that he hadn't taken my harshness to heart. He really was such a sweet, amicable boy.

"No problem. All right, I'll leave you to cleaning then," Matthew said, grabbing the plate of biscuits. "I don't see anything wrong with doing a bit of volunteer work," he winked in teasing.

I let out a light chuckle. "Here, let me get that for you."

I stood up to open the side-door for him. "What do you plan to do with all those biscuits anyway?" I asked, furrowing my brows.

Matthew left the front desk area, turning around. "Thank you. Oh, it's for a ghost here. It gets hungry often, so I leave out food once or twice a day by the fiction section on the fifth floor," Matthew answered, acting as if what he had just said was totally normal as opposed to bizarre. "It's really not that much trouble. The archive department always has left over food lying in the lunch room. It would have gone to waste otherwise."

"Okay…" I started. "That's not my real concern… a ghost eating food? Surely, you must be kidding?" I spluttered.

Matthew's expression became serious. "I'm not lying, Arthur. Food always goes missing from the dining hall too. My maman used to leave food for the ghosts back when she went to school here. It's sort of a tradition in our family and for those who work in the library. Consider this your rite of passage."

"Are you sure that it's not just a student?" I inquired. I mean, it would make sense. Being a college student was rough. The prospect of free food, especially for someone with such a small budget like me, was enticing.

"Believe me, we all thought that at first too," Matthew chuckled. "Remind me one time to show you the security cameras. You won't get any sleep for a week. The food just straight up disappears. What's funny is that I always have to change the 'menu', otherwise it gets tired of eating the same thing."

"Oh…" I said, faltering. "That's certainly something worth looking into."

Matthew began to walk away, slyly looking over his shoulders, an impish expression on his face. "View it at your own discretion. Only people with thick skins can work here," he whispered to add to the spooky effect of his anecdote.

I rolled my eyes at his goofy expression.

"I guess that's my first lead," I muttered to myself when Matthew was out of hearing range.

What confused me most was how a ghost was able to pick up an inanimate object. I had never heard of that happening before. Although, it made sense that the security cameras wouldn't be able to catch the ghost's physical form, as only those with the sight (like myself) could see these entities…

Hmmm.

Perhaps if I cleaned and performed well in my duties Matthew would let me take out the food for the ghost instead. Then I could stake out whatever was eating it.

Actually, that wasn't a bad plan at all.

…

After I finished cleaning an entire bookshelf, I grew weary and retired to an empty study table, where I worked on a few readings to pass the time. I wasn't in the mood to go home quite yet, as I was still very much riled up and flustered.

It was only when my stomach growled that I realized I hadn't had much to eat today. Other than a biscuit and the sorry oatmeal I had made myself for breakfast, I had forgotten to nourish myself entirely. It wasn't that I was trying to starve, oh no, it was far from that.

Thing is, when I'm feeling anxious, I don't experience hunger. My stomach flops and curdles, and the basic human function of eating isn't deemed to be very important. It's easy to forget things when you're overwhelmed.

Unfortunately, such an excuse wasn't enough for Alistair, who always used to worry himself about my poor eating habits. It appears that I'll have to write myself daily reminders if I wanted to maintain a healthy, not to mention proper eating schedule.

The time was nearing eight pm, and having done enough for the day, I stood up from my seat, intending to go home, eat a quick supper, and go to bed without another word. I had already texted Alistair, promising that I would call him at the end of the week as I was too 'busy' with school work to do so today. Obviously, this was a lie, but I couldn't be bothered to sit through an entire conversation of him pressing me about everything I did like he was a bloody therapist or something.

I had also texted Francis, informing him that I wasn't mad at him for his earlier stunt, and that I would greatly appreciate some space when I got home. He responded almost right away, and just like Alistair, he had asked me a string of unnecessary questions like a concerned mother hen. I refused to tell Francis where I was though, as the library was a very sacred place to me. Perhaps I was being selfish, but I didn't want to share it with others, especially with someone as obnoxious and loud as Francis.

Either way, I was glad that Francis had a tougher backbone than what I had initially thought. Delicate in appearance as he may be, the frog had a strong intuition and was able to recognize when people were being genuine or not. What happened in the Literature building was a misunderstanding; we wouldn't be holding each other accountable for it. In fact, it was best to just forget about it entirely.

I didn't care if the other students were perturbed by me now. All it meant was that I wouldn't have to worry about them wanting to talk to me, exactly how I preferred things to be. Sure, there was Matthew, and on some occasions I could tolerate Francis, but for the most part, I truly did favour keeping to myself.

There was also Alfred, which brings me to my next state of action.

Before leaving the library, I wished to investigate the fifth floor and roof again. It didn't take me long to find the fiction section where Matthew left food for the ghost he had mentioned earlier. The plate of biscuits was still lying on the table, untouched. I made the obvious deduction that the food-snatching happened when no one was in sight.

While I was still in the vicinity, I attempted to call forth the spirits, receiving little response in return. For the most part, the ghosts here were lingering memories, rather than the actual soul. I had asked for answers, keeping my voice down, regardless of how massive the library was and that I was likely one of a handful of people still residing in the building.

Unlike earlier attempts over the past week and a half, this time I was lucky enough to receive a clue about one spirit in particular. I didn't catch a name, face, or gender, but the energy clouding around this specific area told me that it was relatively young.

Still, I had a lead, and sooner or later, I would find out what it was. Spirits were often shy, so if it was watching me, I wanted it to know that I meant no harm. I only wished to help it pass on. If it took time for it to reveal itself to me, then so be it. I had an entire four years at my discretion, not that I expected this silent chase to last that long…

It required a lot of patience to deal with these beings.

Death was perhaps the most sensitive topic of all.

Similarly, it was also the most drawing of subjects.

It was for this reason that I always found myself being towed towards the library's rooftop. I had long learned to ignore the memories of those who had jumped to their deaths. It caused me much strain, but it was manageable after some deal of practice.

It was the regret of jumping that often prevented me from falling into a trance. If I wasn't focused hard enough, I would see through the eyes of the spirit, feeling the temptation to jump off the roof and end the crippling, gut-wrenching string of emotions that weighed them down with every breath.

Feeling what they had felt in their last moments made me realize how bad loathing oneself could get. I wasn't nearly that depressed; selfishly, it lessened the guilt I felt about my own pitiful predicament…

I took a deep breath as I exited the glass tunnel leading onto the roof. The sun was just beginning to set, painting the sky a mesmerizing hue of pinks, purples and oranges. It was a rare sight for me, as I wasn't used to the night being so clear without any clouds in sight. Several fairy lights strung across the gardening tunnel lit up the space, assisted by the street lamps on the cobble stone pathways below.

The air was crisp and pleasantly cool. Too bad I lost my cool when Alfred just about barked at me.

"Dude, what the heck?! You're coming here again?!"

I jumped from shock, spinning around to find Alfred sitting at where the circle of benches were. He was still wearing the same bomber jacket and faded pair of denim jeans, which according to him, were the clothes he worked best in to channel his story. His blond hair was messy, as if he had been constantly scuffing it up as he rummaged his brain for the right words.

Several pieces of paper from his notebook were discarded and balled up on the cement floor by his feet. Although I had a preference for books, typing my stories was far more efficient. Don't try telling him that, though. He stubbornly insisted that writing on paper brought out the most from the experience.

"Yes, you twat," I answered snidely. It was perfectly normal for us to banter back and forth like cats and dogs. I came here every day, and yet he still had the nerve to act surprised. "I came up here to get some fresh air, but no worries, I'll be all the way over there, so you don't have to concern yourself with me messing up your 'mojo'," I sarcastically muttered, making air quotes with my hands.

Alfred sighed, taking off his glasses to wipe at them. My sarcasm went right over his head as per usual. "Whatever man. It's getting dark out soon anyway. I won't be able to write for much longer."

I didn't respond, knowing that Alfred liked his space. I walked over to the edge of the roof, closing my eyes. I mentally called forth any spirits in the area, but I received no responses. I had to hold onto the ledge to prevent myself from becoming dizzy.

As I turned to leave, Alfred just had to have the last word. "Yo, what's up with you always interrupting me. Can't a guy write in peace?"

I snapped at him without any hesitation. "Listen hear, you ninny. You don't own this roof! I'll come here if I damn well please! I mean really, there hasn't been a time where I haven't seen you sitting on your arse up here. Why is that?"

Alfred shrugged, his previous agitation being replaced with a morose expression. It made me feel like I had just kicked a puppy. "I know I don't own this place… It's just, I come up here because I don't have anything better to do. I feel calm here; it's where I can take a break from real life. Don't get me wrong, I love getting to know people."

"Uh," he paused, wracking his brain as he bashfully rubbed the back of his neck. "I like being around people too, but not when they're too close. I get nervous and blurt out embarrassing things. I want to socialize and make friends, but I'm terrible at it…"

I furrowed my brows. "So you're an introverted extrovert then?"

"I guess you could say that. I don't like being in crowds either. Having company is nice though. Usually people don't stick around long enough until I overcome the initial awkwardness of getting comfortable with them," Alfred answered. "I really wasn't lying when I said that I was open to talking to people…"

I looked at Alfred, and I mean really looked at him. I immediately felt sorry. From what I could tell, he was a nervous boy who wanted to make friends, but was paralyzed by his own social anxiety. We were different in the sense that he liked being around people, albeit not necessarily talking to them, whereas I didn't like being around any people at all.

For reasons inexplicable, I continued the conversation as opposed to leaving. Our conversations had never lasted longer than the one when we had first met. They mostly involved us snapping at each other, with him childishly puffing out his cheeks until I gave back his precious rooftop.

"I can't relate. I like being alone, and prefer not to talk to people unless I have to," I replied.

With the flip of the switch, Alfred suddenly became exuberant. I had always found it hard to keep up with his mood swings. "What?! Doesn't that get boring for you? Man, I wish I wasn't such a dork when it comes to talking to people! That brings me to my next question; you always come here with such a troubled look on your face. Get annoyed with me all ya want, but there's obviously something that's bothering you. Is there any way I can help?"

"Not really no," I shrugged, preparing a lie on the tip of my tongue. "Being with people is tiring for me. And I hardly see how that's any of your business. Why would you be asking when you're always so adamant on me leaving in the first place?"

Alfred's shoulders deflated, cerulean eyes wide in apology. "Why don't you just kick a guy when he's down? I'm not scared of people, you know. And I told you this already, if I'm not writing, I don't mind chatting. Why don't you come here and sit down for a bit? It might help to get some things off your chest. I won't tell a soul, pinky swear. You already seem tired from putting up with me, so dealing with me for a little longer surely can't hurt," he winked, grinning so widely that I saw a row of perfect straight white teeth.

Perplexed, I took Alfred up on that offer. When I approached him, he began to fidget nervously. The fidgeting only stopped when I moved to sit on the bench across from him, rather than on the same one he was resting at.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Mr. Jones, but didn't you say that you're nervous to speak to others? Why are you so willing to open yourself up to me of all people?" I asked.

"I dunno, I've seen you enough times I guess. You're not exactly the most intimidating person out there," Alfred added in sheepishly. "And please, call me Al or Alfred. Mr. Jones seems too formal."

I scowled, refusing to acknowledge his much larger person, as it made me feel inferior. "Fine, Alfred," I corrected.

"That's the spirit, Artie," Alfred beamed, clapping his massive bear hands together.

"No, no, none of that," I growled. "It's Arthur, or Mr. Kirkland. I don't respond well to nicknames."

Alfred whistled. "Geez, I can see why _you_ don't like speaking to others. You probably scare most of them off. So…what brings you up here then? I know you said you work at the library, but…"

I didn't like what Alfred was insinuating at. A topic change was very much needed.

"Hmmm," I hummed. "Like I've told you many times before, I saw the suicide posters, and wanted to see this place for myself. I didn't know that it would be so calming. The view is nice, even if there is a territorial American who growls at me the minute I take a step too close," I teased.

Alfred blushed a bright pink. "Dude, I told you not to talk about that. The ghosts don't like it. If you stay quiet, they won't bother you. And hey! I told you that I need an _empty_ space to write properly!"

"Just like you need to wear old clothing and write in an old-fashioned notebook?" I countered.

"Duh!" Alfred retorted, again not reading the atmosphere to pick up on my blatant sarcasm.

A comfortable silence fell between us.

Alfred was the first to break it. "How has your week gone? You look pretty stressed."

I still had no idea why I was pouring this all out onto Alfred. The only explanation was that I felt compelled to; I trusted him and I didn't bother to question it. He just had such a vibrant and pure glow – his genuine kindness radiated. His smile sent flutters in my chest, and the way that he was looking at me with such real interest and concern forced me to glance away in embarrassment.

"That's an understatement," I scoffed. "My roommate's hardly tolerable, I'm already drowning in classwork, not to mention that I have to balance a job on top of that. I'm also constantly having to prove to my brother that I'm able to live on my own. He has his doubts, and I've just about had it up to here with being constantly scrutinized by others. I'm shit at maintaining relationships, no thanks to my rubbish family who couldn't wait to get rid of me the moment I was old enough to leave. Nothing ever goes my way, and I just want it all to stop. I want to be able to relax, to be satisfied with my life, but according to other people, satisfied isn't enough. I'm not unrealistic. I know I'll never be happy all the time. This is the year where I want to set my own standards, and yet, there's still people out there who have the audacity to tell me that the way I'm living is wrong!" I huffed, widening my eyes in disbelief.

I couldn't believe I had just admitted all that, out loud no less.

Alfred let out a noncommittal grunt. "Wow, I'm so sorry," he whispered. "And here I thought I had it rough. That's not fair, people should give you the benefit of the doubt. If you don't want to do something, then they shouldn't force you to. But, even if they may annoy you, they probably do care. It's easy to interpret things negatively when you're feeling so…how do I put this, overwhelmed, nervous and scared all at once.

"Starting fresh isn't easy…uh, the specialized classes I'm in are requiring a lot of me too. I deal with it by keeping my head held high. I just think about all that I've been through, and that what I'm experiencing is only part of the journey. Things have to get bad for them to get better. Also, not to be blunt or anything, but I think it's pretty much a given that all writers have experienced depression at one point; it's how we're so vivid with our descriptions. You're right, we all have our bad and good days, but it's totally unrealistic for others to expect us to be happy all the time. What I'm trying to say is that your feelings are valid. It's perfectly okay to feel confused, we all are in some way, but you have a right to let others know that you're affected by it more."

I sat there, listening to Alfred with parted lips. Never before had I met someone who understood what I was going through so well. He knew about everything. He spoke so confidently, so smoothly, completely different from the basic slang terminology that I was used to him speaking with. I wasn't just speaking to Alfred; I was delving into his mind, getting to know the nuanced, writer side of him that thought about and cherished every detail, the side that was in tune with the feelings of others.

Stunned, I let him continue.

"I'm also sorry to hear about your family," Alfred said, his eyes warm with affection. This was the one time where he was daring to look me in the eye, regardless of how close I was. "I at least have my twin sister, Amelia. She's probably the only person who truly understands me; she's my biggest supporter in everything. We, uh, talk to each other about everything. Leaving her to study overseas was hard, but she plans to come here next year.

"Let me overstep my boundaries just a bit and give you a suggestion. It seems like your brother is worried about you. I don't think his concern has anything to do with you proving your well-being to him, he likely just wants to make sure you're okay. Don't do something you'll regret; call him every now and then, even if he annoys you with a ton of questions. It'll make both of you feel better, believe it or not. It's important to let those who love you know that you love 'em right back."

I nodded my head, still mesmerized by the amount of care and thought that were put into his words.

"You're right," I admitted. "Alistair has always looked out for me. He's become extremely overbearing lately, so much so that I've completely shut him out. It's not right. Actually, I'll call him when I get home later. Thank you, Alfred. You opened my eyes. Thing is, I've just been so wired and agitated lately that I've only been thinking about myself and not how I affect the others around me. It was never about being selfish nor is it about ignorance. It's about getting your head out of your arse and pushing away those negative thoughts, extremely difficult as it may be."

Alfred's eyes shined. "That's good to hear. I'm sure he'd really like that. And totally, sometimes you don't realize how crippling these thoughts are until you take a step back and see yourself from the perspective of others. Not everyone's out there to get you. The world can seem like it's falling, but there will always be people out there willing to help."

"You're a smart lad, Alfred," I remarked. "I'm glad that we could have this talk. Pardon me for asking, but are you sure you're faring all right? It can't be easy leaving your country to study overseas. Even if most students here are international, it still doesn't negate how nerve-wracking this whole endeavor can be."

Alfred waved his hand at me dismissively. "Nah. I may not be dealing with it effectively by hiding up here, but I'm doing all right. I'm talking to you, aren't I? I'm sure I'll make some friends eventually. Amelia always says that I'm a charmer. The problem is that I need people to speak to me first, then I can't shut up," he chuckled.

"I can tell," I mused, allowing a small smirk on my face.

"Dude, way to ruin the moment. I'll end on this. No matter how bad things get, promise me that you won't let life get you down. It's easy to feel trapped, and it's even easier to let go of it all. Fight back, be stubborn, and you will persevere. That's what Pops used to tell me anyway."

"Those are wise words from someone wearing an old military jacket. It fits you," I snorted.

"Haha," Alfred said dryly. "Very funny."

I stood up from the bench, grabbing my laptop case. "It's getting late, I should probably go. You know, if you're up for it, you can always find me in the library, either working or studying. I don't talk much, so you'll be able to write just fine. It'll give you the company you need, but won't do much for me."

I had to add in that last part for the sake of my pride. Alfred looked lonely. I most certainly wasn't the best person for him to spend time with. Surely, he would move on eventually, but I couldn't just stand here and willingly let him mope on his own. Honestly, I didn't mind him. He was actually quite endearing with his bashfulness, cheerful attitude, and surprising wisdom.

"Mean," Alfred pouted. "But, okay. I just might take you up on that offer. But, fair warning, I get chatty when I'm nervous."

I sighed. "I'm used to tuning people out, you can't be that bad."

Alfred snickered. "Why don't you just come up here then? I don't mind it, um, as long as you're not like right in my face."

"I'm confused? Weren't you just harping at me earlier for invading your 'no-people' zone?" I asked.

Alfred blushed again. "Man, don't remind me. I'm trying, geez!" he said, pursing his lips in a pout. "Besides, I like talking to you. You can come here whenever you feel like it. I can't boss you around either since I don't exactly own the joint."

I pretended to cough, covering my smile. "Dually noted. Take care, I'll see you again sometime, likely soon."

I didn't want to say that I would see him tomorrow, even though we both knew it would happen, as we both came here nearly every day.

I reached out to shake hands with him, only to falter when I saw Alfred lean away from it. "Right, sorry," I apologized. "I'm a very forgetful person."

"It's fine, dude," Alfred smiled, sending a pleasant jolt up my spine. "We all make mistakes. I can't promise you that I'll get over this aversion, but I want you to know that I would like to be friends with you. That is, if you want to…"

The doubt in his eyes caused me to swallow heavily. I didn't want to disappoint him, not when he had such a hopeful expression. Someone had hurt him in the past, but his cheerful optimism was slowly poking through the uncertainty that he held about himself and others.

"Friends it is, then," I lied, turning on my heels. "Good night."

"Good night, sleep tight eyebrows!"

"Oh, sod off!"

"HAHAHAHA!"

I cupped my cheek, feeling warmth as I stormed into the library.

Sooner or later, he would get tired of me.

The problem, is that I had yet to get tired of him. No matter how grating or loud he was, he would always make up for it with his sweet words, revealing a heart so big that I couldn't possibly stay mad at him. He reminded me of a child, no, a puppy, no both.

Whatever.

It didn't matter anyway.

I ignored the warmth that spread from my face, to the lump at the back of my throat, and then into my chest.

None of these feelings would be reciprocated, so why bother?

…

It was Friday evening, one of the only times of the week where I let myself relax and take some time off from school work. The first week of classes had ended, but I still had many things to do.

Thursday afternoon had been spent preparing for Davie's funeral. I had already gathered an old photo of his, although it had taken some time to find a shop on campus that sold blue daisies. Said flowers used to be planted in the school's gardens, but after the drowning they had all been pulled out.

They were Alice's favourite flowers, and the Dean at the time had wanted them gone after the incident. He was a despicable man, and his photo in an old year book that I had found in the library did my initial foul impression of him justice.

I also chose blue daisies for the funeral because in the photo I had of Davie he was captured smiling, holding up a single stem for the picture-taker to see.

It seemed appropriate enough.

James Creek was a five-minute walk away from campus. It wasn't much of a sight these days, as it was where drunken frat boys came to do their hazing rituals. This would explain the beer cans littering the grassy marsh and soft soil along the streambed.

Unfortunately, I had spent a greater part of an hour cleaning up the area where I intended to perform the funeral. I was trying to be as respectful as possible.

The marsh was wetter than expected, causing my feet to sink into the muddy ground, soaking me up to my ankles. It was nothing a good wash couldn't fix, but it was still nonetheless grating to have these clothes ruined for the rest of the week – I had a specific day where I did laundry. My trainers were already worn down, so I didn't care so much about that.

The sun was beginning to set when I finally got to doing the ritual. I sent up a quick prayer for Davie, setting down the picture frame I had placed his photo in. I wasn't religious, but I had taken it upon myself to learn what words were supposed to be said. I couldn't be a real-life ghost-buster without knowing that, now could I?

Regardless, I was relatively quick with the process, eager to give Alice's passed-on spirit the peace she so desperately deserved. Once I was done saying my condolences, I placed the bouquet of flowers I had bought into the creek, letting it swim along to wherever the current was taking it, thus representing the progression of one's life. Lastly, I found a soft-patch of soil to bury Davie's photo in, which had also taken a good deal of time to dig with my bare hands.

I could have always just purchased a shovel, but with rites like this, it was important to be as close to the Earth as possible. I was severing what little ties remained of a soul; it was important to use the elements of the Earth to nurture them into leaving what was before their home.

The wind became cooler as the evening progressed, prompting a shiver from me as I washed my hands free of dirt and grime in the creek.

Satisfied that I was at least somewhat clean, despite the mud caking the bottom of my jeans and feet, I stood up with the intent of going home and sleeping for a solid eight hours. Thankfully, my shift at the library didn't start until two in the afternoon the next day.

Just as I was about to leave the creek, however, a voice echoed, whispering so gently that it could have just been a fragment of my imagination. The rustling of leaves masked most of it, but I was able to pick up on it well-enough.

 _"Rest in peace, little guy."_

A small smile etched itself onto my face. This was why I did what I did. Even though my life may be full of constant disruptions and heartbreak, it was always a pleasure to relieve others of these problems.

As I left the creek and headed back to campus, the sun had officially set. The sky was pitch-black, boasting a multitudinous constellation of clear-cut stars.

Once my feet hit the cobble-stone pathways of the university's campus, the sky was no longer clear. Fairy lights and lamp posts lit up the area, laughter bubbling and echoing in the air. It was a Friday night, after all. Everyone was out and about, looking for a place to party and get plastered drunk. The heavy scent of perfume and cologne lingered – I was presently passing by a restaurant and pub strip.

I felt awkward, being covered in mud and dirt, as if I had just come back from murdering someone, but thankfully this was masked by the dim lighting outside. I wasn't dressed horribly, oh no. I was wearing a simple pair of ripped denim skinny jeans, a black hoodie, and had a Union-Jack themed bandanna wrapped around my neck. Granted, the bandanna was something I typically wore if I was going to a poetry event, wanting to appear more edgy. Tonight, however, it was useful for first masking the stale stench of the creek, and second, as mentioned before, the heavy scent of body odour mingled with various perfumes.

Only when the pounding of music drifted into the background did I let myself relax. This was exactly why I had refused Francis's offer to go out with him tonight. I didn't like being anywhere loud, and going to dinner with him, putting aside his wrongful insinuation of it being a date, sounded like a nightmare personified.

Either way, the frog didn't seem to mind after my initial fifty rejections. He was out with our fellow blockhead floormates Gilbert and Antonio, likely drinking their stress away at some club. Whatever, it's not like I cared. As long as he wasn't loud when he got back to our apartment, we could go back to ignoring and respecting each other's spaces. I forgave him for his stunt on Wednesday, but we still weren't exactly on speaking terms. Correction, I refused to speak to him, inevitably making things more awkward between us, but my stubbornness wasn't having any of it.

More than usual, I had been uptight these past few days. I think it had a lot to do with me not being able to go to the library as much as I would have liked to.

I hadn't spoken with Alfred either, and for some inexplicable reason, a tugging in my gut made me feel concerned for him. I'm certain that it was just out of pity more than anything else. Alfred seemed like the kind of lad who could really just use someone to talk to, even if it was a person as stiff and snappish as myself.

I would likely see him tomorrow when I worked anyway, so there was no point in bothering myself about how he was faring.

 **PLOP!**

I looked up at the sky and let out a loud groan. All week it hadn't rained, but of course the one time I decide to leave my dorm room for more than ten minutes, all of a sudden, the weather miraculously leaps at the chance to punish me. Priceless, just beautiful.

I quickened my pace, drawing up my hood. I was unaware that I was being followed. A drunken group of oafs had been trailing me ever since I had cut through the restaurant and pub strip.

With the constant patter of the rain, I only perked up when I heard someone let out a bark-like laugh. Confused, I spun around, my eyes widening as they took in four tall and dark figures. It was their body language that made me nervous; I felt like a bunny who had just encountered a pack of wolves.

"C-can I help you there, mate?" I asked, trying to be polite. I didn't want to assume anything and play to stereotypes. My stutter, however, revealed a weakness that only would end up biting me in the arse.

I could hardly see the figure who spoke, furiously blinking rain drops out of my eyes.

"Yes, I'm looking for directions," A strong male voice grunted, his tone sounding like that of a leer.

"Oh," I hummed, swallowing heavily. "Well, perhaps I could help you then? I'm fairly acquainted with the campus. Where do you intend to go?"

The next thing he said sent shivers up my spine. "I'm looking for faggot central, and I think I just found _it."_

I paled. "If that's the case, I best be on my way then."

I moved to sprint forward, but was immediately grabbed by two other boys from the group. They held my arms and just about dragged me into an alleyway at the side of an administration building.

I wasn't about to go down without a fight.

"Let go of me, I say!" I fumed. "What the hell is this all about? What did I ever do to you?!"

My vision blacked out as I was slammed against a brick wall, my head cracking painfully. Tears fearfully streaked down my face along with the water droplets from the rain; I didn't know which was which.

The leader of the group, the one who had spoken first, told the others to back off as he grabbed both of my wrists and pinned them above my head. I fruitlessly struggled, nearly choking from the smell of alcohol on his breath.

The shouts of encouragement in the background felt like stabs to the chest.

"You're scum!" he yelled in my face, slurring. "People like you don't deserve to live, let alone shove your sinning cock-sucking faces in public! I don't need to see shit like that! It's disgusting!"

I spat in the boy's face, enraging him as he pulled away. "Fuck you!" I screamed. "You have no right to judge! I'll live and do whatever the hell I want. If you don't like it, then don't look at me! I won't look at your ugly, ignorant mug of a face either. It's not being gay that makes me a disgusting person! If you're going to attack me, at least bring up something relevant, you Neanderthal!" I shrieked.

It was at this point that I began to scream for help. I was quickly silenced when a large, sweaty hand was placed over my mouth.

"FUCK!" my attacker swore when I bit into his hand, drawing blood. And yet, he still didn't let go. The alcohol must have been dulling his pain.

I spit on his shoes, getting rid of the foul taste in my mouth.

"You little bitch!" he shouted at me.

Another angry voice was added in along the mix, but at this point, I was too tired to care. My struggling was becoming weaker. The boy holding me was stronger, taller, and weighed more.

I closed my eyes, waiting for a punch to the face. It never came.

 **CRASH!**

By a stroke of luck, a metal gutter resting against the side of the building fell. The other group members leapt out of the way, yelping in fright, while another voice erupted with angry shouts.

My hearing was dulled. I had completely dissociated. The adrenaline was gone; I was left with nothing but exhaustion.

"STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM HIM!"

"WHY DID YOU JUST HIT ME?!"

"I DIDN'T HIT YOU, WHAT THE FUCK?!"

"LET'S GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE. THAT FREAK PROBABLY CURSED US OR SOMETHING!"

"YOU BETTER RUN!"

I didn't even notice that my attacker had let go of me. Wordlessly, I slid down against the brick wall, sitting on the cold, wet ground. I was and felt filthy. Cold water poured down my neck and seeped into my back and clothing, making me shiver uncontrollably.

I was used to this, being singled out for no good reason. All it meant was that I would have to wait a few days for the bruises to heal and then I could proceed as normal. It's too bad I've _normalized_ what had just happened to me…

This time I was lucky that there were no other injuries. Perhaps just a sore head, but nothing requiring immediate medical attention.

 _It could have been worse._

Shaking and numb from the cold, I buried my hands in my face, letting out a dry sob. I had cried enough. Now all that was left was fear and disbelief.

Why me?

"Arthur, oh crap! Dude, look at me? How many fingers am I holding up?"

I released my hands from my face, looking up to meet a blurry figure. I instantly recognized the familiar bomber jacket and wheat blond hair. My vision cleared and I saw Alfred crouching before me, his spectacles dotted with tears drops.

"Alfred?"

"Yeah buddy, it's me. Now how about those fingers…?"

I was too stunned and disoriented to question how close he had dared to approach me.

Similarly, I hadn't noticed how it had stopped raining.

"Two," I groaned. "I'm fine, just a bit shaken up…I think…"

I glanced at the ground, refusing to meet his eyes. I was humiliated.

"Dude, you are so not okay!" Alfred protested. "If I didn't show up those guys would have…!" he trailed off, a solemn expression crossing over his face. "Arthur, what are you doing out here so late?"

"Oh cut it with that bullshit, will you?" I growled, inhaling sharply. My body was frozen, refusing to work, but my mouth wouldn't stop spewing out garbage as if its life depended on it. "I will not be victim-blamed here! I was just enjoying a walk outside, minding my own business when those idiots decided it would be a good idea to attack me! It wasn't my fault! And what in the bloody hell are you doing out here anyway?"

Alfred leaned back, raising both hands in surrender. "Whoa man, I'm not blaming you. I'm just saying that there are some pretty sketchy people out here at this time. The alcohol doesn't help either. Even I feel nervous walking out here alone. I was just coming back from the library… I was worried too. I haven't seen you these past couple of days. And then when I do, you're almost getting your face punched in, in a grimy alleyway."

"You don't have to remind me," I sniffed, rubbing at my eyes with my sleeve. "Anyway, thank you, although I'm sure I could have handled them myself just _fine."_

Alfred scoffed. "I heard you screaming for help. No one could have taken on that many guys. I wish I could do more, but those pissheads probably won't even remember any of this in the morning. I also didn't catch their faces…"

I didn't say anything. I was beginning to drift off into space again, wanting nothing more than for this horrible, horrible night to end.

"It's okay, Arthur. I know you're scared. You're safe, and no one's going to hurt you. I'm here. Is there any place that hurts?"

"Why are you being so nice to me?" I croaked. "Didn't you hear what they said? Don't waste your time on me."

"Okay…you definitely hit your head too hard. I don't give a flying bunny about those things. You're still same old grumpy Arthur to me, just as stubborn too."

I jolted when Alfred hesitantly reached out to cup my cheek, bringing his face closer to mine. I didn't realize that he was shaking just as much as I was. "I'm going to get help. Can you stand?" he asked me.

His hands were cold, wet from the rain. I nodded my head, still allowing him to help me stand up. I wobbled a bit, but was pretty decent on my feet. The shock of the events prior was beginning to fade away.

These things didn't bother me as much as they used to. It was back to the repressing drawing board.

I felt like I was floating, like what I was experiencing wasn't even real.

"I thought you were too shy to be close to other people?" I murmured.

"That doesn't matter now, helping you is more important," Alfred grunted, his arm slung over my torso.

He leaned me against the wall. "Stay there, I'm, uh, going to go get someone."

"Wait, Alfred?" I croaked, but he was already gone, leaving me behind in the mucky alleyway. I took this chance to breathe, calming myself, preparing myself for the questions that would likely follow as soon as campus security arrived.

My luck struck out again.

…

Desperation pumped through his veins as he thundered out of the alleyway, his feet slapping against the ground, causing water to fly everywhere.

The first thing Alfred saw was a man with shoulder-length blond hair walking towards him. He was likely coming home from a night out with his friends.

"Excuse moi, but are you all right?" the man asked, his voice bearing a French accent.

Alfred paused, looking over his shoulder. The man was looking straight at him.

"Monsieur, can you hear me? Are you all right?" the man asked again, furrowing his perfectly arched brows in question.

When the man approached closer, Alfred could smell alcohol on him, but he appeared to be relatively sober.

Once again, Alfred looked over his shoulder.

The man looked at Alfred with narrowed eyes, suspicious at the latter's tense demeanor.

The man knew for a fact that Alfred could understand him.

"Hallo? I am speaking to you!"

Alfred cleared his throat nervously, his eyes darting left and right. It was as if he had forgotten how to speak; he was rusty at socializing with people he was unfamiliar with. There were other reasons for his social awkwardness, but let's not get into that.

"Look dude, I think a guy just got jumped in that alleyway!" Alfred shouted, pointing to his right. "He seems to be okay, but I really need to be somewhere! Check on him, will ya? Kay, thanks!"

Alfred began to bolt away from the Frenchman, ignoring the confused shouts that followed his departure.

Alfred was just as confused if not overwhelmed by what had just happened.

His only solution was to run away, just like he had done in the past before.

…

The next half hour passed by in a daze. Alfred left and the next thing I knew Francis was shouting in my face, panicking about how muddy, worn down, and dirty I was. He inspected me for injuries but found none.

I was still too tired to put up a fight. I gave him a half-ass explanation of what had happened, keeping it short as I couldn't stand the smell of wine on his breath.

In my rush to get home and ignore Francis's pleas to take me to the campus's clinic, I had somehow forgotten to mention Alfred entirely.

It didn't matter in the end though. If I owed someone my thanks, I would rather deliver it to them in person. For now, I wanted time to wallow in my own misery.

Tonight was a perfect example of how the world hates me. I was pathetic, and attracted harm and negativity like a moth to a flame. I didn't want to speak of it anymore than I absolutely had to.

What infuriated me was how Francis refused to let me walk home without being helped. My disorientation had long passed, the evening air doing well to clear my head.

If only I didn't have a migraine from the two idiots who had their arms wrapped around my torso and the third idiot who lagged behind.

"I told you that I could walk home myself!" I fumed.

"Ignore him," Francis huffed to my right. "He could have his leg blown off and he'd still rather drag himself to safety instead of relying on another person. He has trust issues," he explained.

"Ah, not to be like a total downer or anything, but you're not looking so awesome, Arthur," Gilbert commented, his red eyes raking up and down my muddy and dishevelled figure. "You smell like you've been in a sewer."

I ignored the tipsy German.

"Did your eyebrows offend someone?" Antonio asked me, holding up the left side of my person. "That's too bad, amigo. You were probably in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Would you all just fuck off already?" I exploded. "Why are you even bothering to help me?"

On miraculous cue, Antonio, Gilbert, and Francis spoke at the same time. "It's what friends do."

I fell silent after that, thankful the night was dark enough to hide my blush.

 _Friends…_

Huh.

That word would never fail to faze me.

* * *

 **To be continued…**

 **Word Count: 12,933 words**

 **21 Pages**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** So, I'm pretty sure you guys know I'm a fan of updating en masse. I don't really see the point in updating small chapters. It doesn't quite work with the pacing of this story, so you get huge chapters that is basically the same as if I were to update every two weeks xD

Also, I'm posting this story to connect with you guys and hear your thoughts :) You'd be surprised how one simple review could do wonders for any author's motivation. I'm curious! The silence is a bit unnerving for me given how many people are reading it lol.

Take care and enjoy!

* * *

Two days later…

Monday:

I was sitting at the front desk in the library, pawing through a files folder as I balanced a corded phone between my ear and shoulder.

"Yes, everything is fine," I sighed, annoyed at having to repeat myself. "I'm starting my third week here already. You know me, I've already developed a daily routine. I feel comfortable now. Hell, I'm so busy, I don't even feel stress anymore. I can't afford to."

Coping by using sarcastic puns? Check.

Midterms were around the corner, so most of my time was spent preparing for them well in advance. Grades were how I proved my self-worth, not to others, but to myself. I had nothing else going for me but my smarts.

"That's good to hear," Alistair grunted on the other end of the phone. "Even so, I just wanted to check in with ye again. Have ye made any new friends? Are ye eating properly? And don't ye dare lie to me, Artie. Ye ken full well that I'll come down there to romp yer skinny little arse if ye are."

I smirked and closed the files drawer shut. It emitted a satisfactory metallic thud.

I spun in my swivel chair and pushed off towards the desk part of the station so that I could smugly drum my fingers against the wooden surface.

"Actually, I have. Five total. Well," I corrected myself. "Three of them are more like acquaintances that I just so happen to share classes with. As for food? I've been trying, really I have. My roommate is even more ruthless than you are, like a hawk. He's resorted to force-feeding me because of my apparent lack in key nutrients."

Alistair laughed gruffly. "And here ye were at the beginning of the year, bitchin' and whining about having ta share a room with someone. It looks like it did ye a lotta good. I'm glad…and surprised. Since when has my wee little brother been so popular? I'm impressed. Nae, I'm proud _and_ impressed."

I faltered. "The people here are…surprisingly nice. It's not like back home, where people's brains are even smaller than the limited geography. I've also noticed that, ah, there's a lot of _diversity_ amongst the writers here, and I'm not just saying this because it's an international academy," I stumbled awkwardly.

Thankfully, Alistair knew how to address the subject without either skirting around it or directly addressing it. I flustered easily; he knew my boundaries of what I was okay with discussing.

"Artists are like tha'. Yer all either depressed, gay, lonely, bitter, or all four. Oops, looks like I just came up with half of yer biography," Alistair teased before changing the subject. "So, have you written anythin' lately? You haven't sent me somethin' for quite a while now."

Alistair was the supportive mother figure in my life. He overcompensated in our true mother's footsteps by taking interest in my hobbies. I only ever trusted Alistair to read my writing.

"Ha ha, very funny," I replied dryly. "Hmmm. I'll send you something soon. I have many assignments due in the coming weeks. I could always use another set of eyes to catch any mistakes."

"Yep."

"How are things in Scotland?" I asked.

"Good, could be better. My flat isna the best, but I'm making do. Mum called yesterday by the way…"

"Oh?" My stomach sank.

"She asked me to tell ye somethin'."

I didn't say anything, which prompted Alistair to tell me anyway.

"She asked me if yer coming back for Christmas… ye don't have to, though!" he blurted out. "I'd understand if ye didn't want to. Artie, I already told em' that you'd be coming home to my place for the holidays. That's the plan. It's up to ye if ye to change or stick with it."

I grit my teeth, swallowing sourly. "That's rich," I snorted bitterly. "You can tell her to fuck right off, along with the rest of them. They just don't want to look bad when I'm not there in front of the other relatives. I'm not going, not again. I don't want to go back, and no amount of guilt-tripping will ever make me. What nerve they have, honestly."

There went my relatively good mood.

My family may not have been physically abuse, but the belittling and constantly critical atmosphere was toxic for me. There were all just so passive-aggressive, it would drive anyone in my position insane. My other brothers would always hip-check me if I was in the way and would also make snide comments when I wasn't around. Mum was miserable, and Dad was just an angry bigot not even worthy of a description.

They didn't want me there, and I was sick of them pretending that they had accepted me for who I was. I haven't forgiven them, especially for the stairs incident with Patrick…

I'll repeat myself again: I wasn't going back. They had already done enough damage.

"I thought ye would say that," Alistair sadly stated. "Don't get me wrong, ye have every right to feel that way. I wasn't keen on going either if I'm to be perfectly honest. I'll make sure to relay the message for ye. No need to cause any more fights."

"Good, because I was definitely looking forward to us attempting to cook, only to give in after almost burning down the building and ordering take-out as a consolation meal," I mused, intending to lighten the mood. It worked.

After that, the conversation shifted to more trivial topics. I elaborated on school, my job, the many ghosts, as well as how strange the entire campus made me feel. I didn't mention the library's rooftop; I hadn't thought of it as very important.

My break was over quicker than expected, and I had to hang-up. It was odd how lenient and patient Alistair was being with me, as opposed to his usual stubborn, worry-wart self. I soon understood why he was acting as such when he said his goodbyes.

"I haven't heard ye be this happy in a while, Artie. I don't ken what's happening there, but I sure do hope that it keeps up. Take care, lad. And don't forget to call me, more than just one day a week if ye can. I'm always available when it comes to yer well-being, just make sure to keep the time in mind if ye do happen to catch me by surprise. Anyways, I have stuff to do, so I should probably let ye go. Best of luck on your midterms. Oh, and I love ye, very much, ye snobby brat."

I smiled. "I love you too, you hard-headed oaf," I retorted. "I'll speak to you again soon."

"Wha-?! Did you just say it back? Who are ye and what did you do with my bro–!"

Shocked, I hung up the phone.

"What in the bloody fuck was that?" I asked myself, feeling my face heat. The last time I had said something like that to him, I was no older than eight. My God, this school was turning me into such a sap.

No matter, I still had work to do. We had just gotten a whole new edition of textbooks to register into stock from the history section. Straightening both my blouse and posture, I set out to do just that.

It was four PM when Matthew came back from his last class of the day. My classes on Monday ended at noon, so I covered the middle shift. Technically, I was only hired to work on weekends, but I was slightly behind on my work as an assistant, so the administrators let me do an extra shift here and there to make up for it. The campus was privately run, so funding and payroll was never an issue.

Besides, the amount of books and files I had to keep track of was insane, near impossible even. I was also in the library most days, save for this weekend as a minor exception. I think you know why, but we'll get into that later.

I wasn't surprised to see Matthew carrying a platter of sandwiches in his hands. "Feeding time again?" I joked. I still found this whole situation ridiculous. It just didn't make any sense to me. A spirit eating food? I had never heard of something so preposterous.

"Oui, ah, yes," Matthew stuttered. "Egg salad is never a favourite in the staff room. I figured I wouldn't let them go to waste."

Matthew opened the plastic wrap covering the platter, offering me a sandwich. "They're pretty awful, but knowing you, you've only had breakfast today, huh?"

The Canadian knew me well. I didn't have a very large appetite, anxious or not. I either ate a lot or didn't eat at all, there was no in between. Although, the reminders I had set on my phone have helped. Throughout the day, I had many snacks, but none of them were meals – the downside of being dirt poor.

I accepted the sandwich, smiling politely as I took a small bite from it. "I don't see anything wrong with it," I shrugged.

"It's plain and processed," Matthew deadpanned. "I swear, you have such a strange taste in food. You'll eat anything, just like the ghost. Speaking of which, have you had a chance to look at the camera footage?" he asked, noting my disheartened expression. "Spooky, right?"

"Something's definitely funny about it," I replied. "Perhaps it's just the lighting, an optical illusion that makes it look like the food is disappearing. The cameras are old too. I still stand by my theory that a student is taking advantage of the free food."

Sue me, I was lying through my teeth. I didn't want many people to know about my abilities. Francis knew, and that was more than enough. Thing is, when I looked at previous camera footage, the food didn't just disappear. A dark and shaded pixelated spirit was in fact taking the food. It's just a pity I wasn't there to actually witness this, since the camera didn't possess the same sight as I did.

"Arthur," Matthew rolled his eyes. This was something we often bickered about now. "My family's been doing this for decades. There's a spirit here, many of them, but this one has the most personality. Keep denying the obvious if you want, but this library is very clearly haunted. Now, if you excuse me, I have a real-life ghost to feed. If I take too long, sometimes it gets impatient and knocks over books. One time it knocked over an entire shelf."

"Mhmm, sure," I hummed dismissively, a playful light in my eyes. "You keep telling yourself that."

"I will," Matthew huffed.

"Good."

"Bien."

"Fine."

"Fine."

"Hitting your head on Friday must have made you even stubborner. As if it wasn't already hard enough to get through to you," Matthew shook his head in disbelief.

The bruise at the back of my head throbbed a little at the reminder. I told Matthew that I had taken a bad fall on Friday, not wanting him to worry about me too much. Francis already did enough of that. I couldn't walk two feet without the Frenchman offering to hold my arm in support.

I had a minor concussion, that's it. Waking me up every hour of the night was more than unnecessary. Stupid patronizing frog. Don't even get me started on refusing to report the incident to campus security…

"Perhaps it did. I wouldn't know," I shrugged, prompting Matthew to leave with a thoroughly 'done' expression on his face.

When Matthew was out of sight, I rolled my chair over to the computer and opened the camera feed. I clicked on the specific one that surveyed the fiction section on the fifth floor. The food was always placed on the study tables there.

I spied on the Canadian, watching him place the sandwich platter in its usual spot. I shamelessly flipped through cameras, making sure that he was far out of hearing distance before I put my plan into motion.

I was going to stake out the spirit. I had done enough readings over the weekend to spare myself some extra time. I also may or may not have refused to leave my dorm room because of Friday's incident. All right, I did.

I had avoided visiting the rooftop because I didn't want to see Alfred. Now that he knew who I was, I couldn't bear to face him again. I didn't want his pity, nor did I want _myself_ to believe that we could become chatting partners again.

He'd seen me in a very sorry, very pitiful state. I just knew that he would never look at me the same if we saw each other again. The problem was, I needed to investigate that rooftop, but he was always there. This mess just made everything more complicated than it needed to be. It was also bizarre how Alfred had just left without another word, but then again, I wasn't going to complain.

Moving on.

Hopefully, this stake out would answer most of my questions. I had very little patience monitoring the cameras; this plan was my only way of physically seeing the spirit, rather than just a fuzzy, pixelated blob on a screen.

Forget waiting, I wanted to know what it was. The uneasy feeling I got whenever I came here was beginning to drive me mad, like a pestering fly that wouldn't stop buzzing in your ear.

And so, that's how I found myself squatted behind a bookcase, phone digging into my hips due to the tight jeans I was wearing. I eyed the food platter, devotedly intending to stay for hours on end if I had to.

"Come out, come out wherever you are," I muttered to myself. "I won't hurt you, I promise. If anything, I just want to help. And here I thought I was stubborn…"

One hour later.

"Oh for fuck's sakes, I'm not going to bite."

Two hours later.

I stretched my back and neck, shifting my position into something more comfortable. I was leaning against the bookshelf now, occasionally looking over my shoulder, only to come up disappointed with the view of the still empty study area.

I was so used to the quiet that when my phone buzzed, I gave a sharp yelp in response.

Turns out, it was just Francis wanting to know if I had started plotting out my Creating Writing assignment. Our Russian professor, an alumnus at the school, was back to teaching here again. Apparently, we were immensely lucky to have him, since he didn't like staying at the campus for more than a year.

Lucky my arse. We had a 20,000 word one-shot due at the end of each month. The professor was out of his bloody mind! It was only a matter of time before I burnt out – a person only had so much creativity and sanity in them, after all.

I couldn't be bothered to answer Francis. I would do so later if I remembered to, which wasn't very likely if I'm to be perfectly honest. It got to the point where I had to turn off my phone to prevent him from blowing up my inbox. God, was he ever insufferable.

The time I spent waiting had almost passed the three-hour mark when a distinct creak and subsequent thud echoed across the area. Immediately, I turned around, eyes locked on the nearest study table.

"Easy does it," I mouthed. "I just want to see who or what you are…"

"Whatcha lookin' at?"

"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST?!" I screamed, jolting upwards only to bang my head on the bookshelf.

My vision blacked out briefly as I reached out to cup the back of my now _much_ sorer head. My vision swam, blurry, before focusing on a startled pair of blue eyes and shiny spectacles, glowing from the fluorescent lights above.

"A-Artie?" Alfred crouched down. "I'm sorry if I startled ya. It's just, I haven't heard from you since, well, you know… I thought I would find you myself. You did mention that you worked and studied here."

"I did, did I?" I groaned, glaring at him through tears. "Couldn't you have found me like a normal person, and oh, I don't know, not sneak up on me?"

Alfred didn't say anything. He looked like he wanted to reach out to see if I was okay, but given my short temper, he knew better not to.

"Stop looking at me like that, I'll be fine. And it's Arthur!" I blurted out. "How many times do I have to tell you that?… Fuck it, I don't even care. I-I should probably get going now." I stood up abruptly, wanting to get out of here as fast as possible.

"Arthur, wait!" Alfred called out when I turned my back on him.

Hesitantly, I turned around, defensive scowl already in place. My eyes bugged out as I took in his hulking height. He was several inches taller than me, albeit lanky. Of course, he was still wearing the same brown bomber jacket and folded jeans, blond hair stuck up in a messy muss. In his right hand, he gripped onto his notebook, and on his back, he was one-strapping a brown leather rucksack.

"What?" I wavered, shy to establish direct eye contact for too long.

"I'm, ah, sorry that I left you hanging like that. I panicked and didn't know what to do. It's why I went running off to find someone else to help out…"

"You found my roommate. I _hate_ my roommate," I sarcastically spat.

Alfred nervously rubbed the back of his neck. "Oh. I didn't know. He seemed nice enough, I guess," I trailed off.

"Is that all? I have to be somewhere."

"Don't lie to me, Arthur. I haven't known you all that long, and yet I can still tell when you're lying. You wear your emotions on your face. You don't just look troubled now. You look embarrassed and I'm here to tell you that you shouldn't. Is that why you haven't come on the roof these past few days? Because you thought I wouldn't accept you for who you are?"

"…Can you blame me?" I whispered, throat constricting. "You saw what they did, what they said. It's repulsive. I'm repulsive…"

"BULLSHIT!" Alfred exploded. When I flinched, he lowered his voice. "That's total bullshit, you hear me?! Don't say such things like that. It only gives those assholes free reign to do whatever the hell they want! You're better than that!"

I inched away from Alfred, hurt crossing over my expression. "Look, if you came here to yell at me, then you may as well just leave. I don't need this right now."

"Arthur," Alfred repeated. "Look man, I'm trying," he paused, taking a deep breath. "I want to be your friend, I really do. It's just hard standing here watching you beat yourself up like this. It's not right.

"Thing is, my anxiety does this weird thing where when I see someone in a similar position to me, I become strong and confident all of a sudden. My sister calls it this 'hero' persona. I don't really care… I'm not trying to be your hero, but I can't just stand around either. I came to talk to you."

I sighed. So that's why he was here. He was pushing aside his shyness to see if I was okay. Sweet, but unnecessary. A waste of his time if you ask me. "You don't have to, I'm fine."

"You weren't fine when I found you _that_ night," Alfred interrupted. "Did you call campus security on those bozos? Maybe there was a camera that caught their faces. They deserve to expelled for what they did, a rotten bunch if I've ever seen one," he seethed.

"I didn't call anyone. I just want it to be done and over with. What happened, happened," I remarked curtly.

Alfred's jaw dropped. "You're not going to try and find them?"

"I just said that, didn't I?"

"But you can't! It's not right!"

"Perhaps, but it's what I want."

Alfred's shoulders slumped. "I can't believe it. I mean, if it's what you really want, fine. It's not what I would do, and it makes me really angry that those criminals are going to get away with something like this... still, I can't force you to do something you don't wanna do."

I looked at the ground, unsure of myself. "Was that all you came here for?"

"No, you invited me to join you in the library sometime, remember? I'm taking you up on that offer. Call me old-fashioned, but I don't have a phone, so this was my only way of finding you. I also, um, want to tell you something," Alfred admitted.

I shrugged. I was too tired and flustered to argue. A seat sounded nice. "All right, I don't see why not."

We sat at a study table, across from one another. Alfred had to pull out his chair as his legs were too long to fit underneath. He kept fidgeting, with both his hands and his feet. The way he clicked his ankle was annoying, but I didn't have the heart to tell him to stop. He was pushing himself out of his comfort zone, for me. He was reaching out – who was I to discourage him from doing so with some useless, petty comment?

After some time, Alfred looked up, smiling out of nervousness. "What you said earlier really bothered me, ya know that? You shouldn't have to feel ashamed of yourself. Do you think I'm repulsive?"

"Of course I don't think you're repulsive!" I snapped. "Why would you say such a thing?"

Alfred gave me a blank stare. "I could say the same thing to you. Don't you get it? No one should ever say such horrible things about themselves because once you say it, you really believe it, and it's not true, okay?!" he breathed deeply, calming himself.

"Let me rephrase myself, dude," Alfred continued. "Would you call me repulsive if you knew that I liked guys too?"

"Y-you do?" I asked, lips trembling. My ears buzzed, unable to process this information.

"Yes, I do. Gals as well. Now answer my question."

"I don't have to rephrase anything," I answered. "I've never thought of you as repulsive. I judge people by character. You haven't given me a reason to think that, so no, I don't find you repulsive."

"Why can't you apply that same logic to yourself then? If you call yourself repulsive for being gay, or at least liking boys, then I want you to look me in the eye and call me repulsive too. Go on, do it."

"I…can't."

"Why not? Do it! If it's so easy to say it to yourself, then say it to me!"

"I don't want to!"

"Why?"

"Because I don't want anyone to ever have to experience what I have!" I croaked.

"Then why beat yourself up, Arthur? Don't become another bully, to yourself nonetheless. I'm not going to lie and tell you that this world and that you yourself are perfect. But that doesn't give you a reason to hate everything either! You're not repulsive, it's how you think that's repulsive! Don't become like those bigots! It'll only make them win!"

I raked a shaky hand through my hair, fisting it. "I-I…don't think you're repulsive."

"I know, but you need to know that you're not either," Alfred said softly, cerulean eyes possessing an indescribable wisdom to them.

"Damn it," I sniffed, wiping at my eyes before tears could spill. "I know I'm not repulsive, but I can't help but believe it sometimes."

"Love and being yourself is never repulsive, as long as it doesn't harm others. My Ma and Pops didn't understand that, but my, ah, sis does. I grew up in the South. My family, they're really religious. For so long, I had to hide who I was. I had crushes on both boys and girls, but could only date girls. At least, not in public. What I'm trying to say is that it's not worth hating what you can't change. There'll always be support, and there'll sometimes be backlash. It doesn't _mean_ you have to accept it or that it's right. Society sucks, but it doesn't _mean_ you have to believe that you suck too. Gosh, that sounded really dirty," he finished, smiling nervously.

"That must have been tough. I can't even bear to imagine it," I whispered.

"Yeah, well, I didn't live there all the time. My twin, Amelia – I think I told you about her – anyways, Amy and I went to boarding school in New York. We grew up in a pretty progressive area. It was there that I found out more about myself. I met a guy…"

Alfred's eyes widened in pain. I didn't know whether to stop him or let him continue.

I resorted to the latter in fear of scaring Alfred away.

"We really, really liked each other. It's just hard when you're forced to be afraid of loving someone. It really got to me. When I close my eyes I can still imagine how pretty his eyes were, a rare, indescribable violet. He was always so worried about what other people thought... he stood me up because of the rumours going around about us. Afterwards, all I could do was blame and hate myself.

"It's not worth it, Arthur. It really isn't. I learned that the hard way. Either way, I still had that experience, horrible as it was. But you know what? At least I got to do what I wanted to without having what others thought about us hold me back."

"I'm so sorry," I said hesitantly.

"Don't be. The point I'm trying to get across is that it's pointless to regret things, especially something unchangeable like your sexuality. Heck, if I don't know how hard it can get at times. I've only ever wanted things to get better. Moving here, it was a fresh start, even if I had to leave my only support system behind. But now I have you, huh? So how about you start seeing yourself like I do: a _normal_ guy who's too hard on himself."

I nodded. "This was…too sweet for words, Alfred. You didn't have to tell me all that, but I appreciate it. You're right, about everything. And yes, you have me now. I consider you as my friend."

"No, no I did. I didn't just want to tell you this, I had to," Alfred said, taking off his glasses. I let out a sharp intake of breath when I saw that he was crying. "Back then, I grew tired of hating myself, for thinking that I would never be happy. Seeing you feel the same way now, it just breaks my heart. No one deserves this. You can't help it, all right? Things may never turn out in your favor, but don't you ever give up. You _will_ find that someone who will accept you for you, it just may take some time. But once you do find that someone, the rest of the world don't matter after that."

"Crap," he whimpered. "I was the one supposed to be cheering you up. Some friend I am. I wanted to make you feel better."

"Hey," I chided, reaching into my pocket to pull out a wad of tissues. "You sound like you've had it much worse than I have. And don't be silly, you did make me feel better. It's reassuring that we have so much in common, truly it is. Please, don't cry. We both can't be messes, now can we?"

I reached over to hand Alfred a tissue, backing away slightly as he looked uncomfortable with getting so close. He accepted the tissue gratefully, blowing the tip of his nose, which was now quite red.

"I can't promise you that I won't think like this, but what I can guarantee is that I'll try not to. Like I've told you before, it'll take time to re-wire years of negativity. Now come on, smile for me," I felt my heart skip a beat. Where was this coming from?

"You cheered me up, now it's my turn. Where's that dopey, grinning smile, you yank? The smile that can brighten just about anything? How about this, I'll go get us some hot chocolate from the staff room, and when I come back, we can do our work together? You know I won't talk, so you don't have to worry about me messing up your writing mojo."

Alfred looked up at me, incredulous before a wisp of a grin began to creep onto his face. "That sounds awesome! I would love that. Thanks man, you're the best!"

"I should be thanking you," I corrected. It was almost adorable how excited he was. Who knows how long it's been since he's been able to share a moment like this. To me it was just a warm drink, but to Alfred, it was a chance to enjoy himself with someone who accepted his quirks, someone he felt he could be himself with.

We were both overcompensating, trying to make the other feel better…

We both knew what it felt like to be unhappy with ourselves.

Just as I was about to leave, Alfred surprised me once again in a brief, but still ever meaningful display of braveness. It was a simple gesture, but to him, it meant so much more than that.

"Arthur, I never got to introduce myself properly. I-I think I would like to do that now," he flushed, cheeks pink.

"What?"

Alfred held out his hand. "Don't make this awkward, dude. I want to shake hands with you."

"Oh…" My stomach flopped. "Yes, yes, of course. Are you… are you sure you want to though?"

"Yeah man. I trust you completely."

"Very well. Nice to meet you, Alfred Jones," I reached out for Alfred's hand, slowly, waiting for him to grab my hand first.

In reciprocation, Alfred reached over the table, shaking slightly. With a determined huff, he clasped his tanned hand around mine, swallowing it. His hands were that of a bear's, or, at least pretty close to it.

"The pleasure's all mine, Kirkland," Alfred grinned, revealing a heart-warming smile that showed off all his teeth. I had to look away in fear of getting both blinded and embarrassed. He had a way of looking at someone that just made them feel so special. What did I ever do to deserve such a beautiful expression from him?

Alfred gave my hand a gentle squeeze before letting go, breathing out with a shudder. "Wasn't so bad."

I gave him a blank stare.

"I'm talking about my shyness!"

"I know," I mused. "It's just fun to get you worked up."

"Hey!"

I stood up and turned my back on him, grinning the entire trip down to the staff room on the first floor.

When I came back, Alfred and I sipped our warm beverages in a comfortable silence. He wrote down ideas in his notebook, tongue wagging out as he did, and I picked out a random book to read.

Occasionally, he would look up at me and grin like a total goofball. Still, it was hard not to smile back. When he was in a good mood, it was contagious. He radiated, a glow of comfortability surrounding him, protecting him.

I too would find myself staring at him, only to look away when we established eye contact. It was thrilling, watching the way how he pouted his lips in thought, long lashes feathering his strong cheekbones.

He was beautiful.

I was beginning to fall in love with Alfred Jones. Too bad I absolutely couldn't let that happen.

…

The next day

…

I was attending a Creative Writing lecture, or, what remained of it. Prof. Braginski was going through the syllabus again to explain a specific assignment due at the end of the month. However, he couldn't get through one sentence without being interrupted by loud bangs from either the auditorium's ceiling or the walls.

Prof. Braginski cleared his throat, trying not to look frazzled as he adjusted the white scarf wrapped around his neck. The man was in his mid- fifties, a hulking giant with pale blond hair, indigo-almost-purple eyes, and a strong nose.

"Ahem, as I was saying, you will all have a 20,000 word one-shot due at the end of each month. This month's theme is something that inspires you. Whether it be friends, family or the heavily-used cliché theme of love–"

 **BANG! BANG! BANG!**

Lovino, Gilbert, and Antonio jumped slightly, sitting to my right, as did the rest of the class save for Francis and myself. Unfortunately, the Frog realized that night classes weren't ideal if he wanted to go out with his friends, and ended up changing most of his classes to conveniently fit the same schedule as mine.

Prof. Braginski paused, waiting to see if there would be any other noise disruptions before continuing. The class was silent, unnerved by the persistent bangs echoing across the amphitheatre. Fifteen minutes passed since the lecture had first started, and yet, hardly anything had been discussed.

Francis – who was sitting by my left – and I exchanged wary looks as the professor began to appear more and more distressed. Rumour has it that he was an extreme introvert and didn't like staying at this university for long, despite having received an education here. Something traumatic happened here to him many years ago, and he only taught out of politeness, going against his wishes.

The hairs on the back of my neck pricked, a faint ringing sound bristling at the tips of my ears.

Something wasn't right. My stomach flopped with inexplicable feelings of anxiety, dread, and hurt. They seeped into my entire being, doing everything to make my mood miserable. Immediately, I recognized that this was all a spirit's doing.

Francis must have noticed this too because he kept clenching and unclenching his fists, rubbing his forehead frequently. Channelling these emotions was a common symptom for spiritual communicators. In fact, I could already feel the beginnings of a migraine form in my own head.

 **BANG! BANG! BANG!**

Prof. Braginski inhaled deeply, rustling the papers in front of him out of nervous habit. "Perhaps there is the construction going on? Leaky piping?" he proposed, slipping into broken English, his voice in an even thicker Russian accent than before.

"How can it be construction or leaky piping if the whole building is shaking?" Gilbert bent over to whisper to Antonio. "It feels like the entire roof is going to cave. And, I don't know about you, but I didn't see any cranes on my way here. Damn, I bet you anything this building is old enough to collapse on us at any given moment. Eh, at least I won't have exams to worry about," he teased nervously, using jokes to compensate for his own unease.

Antonio's eyes widened, just about breaking into tears. Lovino turned sharply and began to hiss at Gilbert for upsetting Antonio.

Another ten minutes passed before Prof. Braginski ended the class early, instructing us to check our emails tonight, as we would likely be changing lecture locations – again.

None of the students complained, eager to get out of class early. Meanwhile, Francis and I stayed back in solidarity, stiff in our seats.

Gilbert stood up, looping his backpack over his right shoulder. "Man, this is so awesome! Maybe if we're lucky, he'll cancel the whole class altogether. Free credits, am I right?"

Lovino rolled his eyes, taking a large chug from his coffee, needing the caffeine to be able to cope with the idiocy around him. "The amount of optimism in that statement is hopeless. Of course he's not going to cancel the class, you knuckle head."

Gilbert pouted.

Lovino faltered, nudging a frozen Antonio's shoulder like a prying mother. "Up you go, bastard. Class is over, didn't you hear?"

Numbly, Antonio stood on the promise that Gilbert and Lovino would take him to their favourite study room. Secretly, they all knew the campus was haunted, but didn't want to make the idea seem real. And so, the thought of ghosts haunting the classroom went largely unacknowledged.

Antonio, Gilbert, and Lovino began to pile down the aisles, only to turn back when they realized that Francis and I hadn't left our seats.

"Fran, aren't you coming?" Gilbert asked. He didn't bother to ask me. The four of them had no idea where I disappeared to after class, only knowing that I preferred being alone when I studied.

"Non, I'm going to stay here."

"With Arthur?" Antonio cocked his head to the side, incredulous.

"Oui, with Arthur. We, ah, both have a love for investigating things, isn't that right Arthur?" Francis mused, lightly elbowing me in the rib-cage.

It took a lot of willpower not to punch him in the throat. "Yes, that's right," I played along with the lie. "We're going to try and figure out the source of the noise. I'm sure there's a rational explanation for them. Honestly, you people always over-react and come to the most ridiculous conclusions."

Gilbert shrugged, adamant on leaving the classroom. He was still spooked by the wardrobe incident, even if I had ruled it off as something non-paranormally related. "Suit yourselves, weirdos. If you get murdered by Bloody Mary, Toni and I call dibs on your room. It's bigger."

"But of course. If that happens, I'll be expecting you three to plan my funeral and bury me in great fashion," Francis joked, grinning as the two friends and the other who denied being their friend but actually was left the auditorium.

As soon as we heard the front doors shut with a thud, we stood up from our seats and piled down to the podium at the front of the room.

I began to pace back and forth, closing my eyes, hoping to get any hints of the spirit residing here. Once again, I got nothing but the same emotions as before.

"A-ha! Got you!" Francis cackled, grabbing my shoulders out of nowhere.

"WHAT IN THE BLOODY FUCK WAS THAT FOR?!" I roared, jumping in fright. The Frog still hadn't learned his lesson from before, that ass.

Francis laughed and bent over to hold his knees, blond curls swinging. "Desole, I just had to. The look of constipation on your face was priceless," he said, straightening his posture. He then wiped a tear from his eye.

I glared at Francis, considering grabbing the meter stick by the front chalk board. There would soon be two ghosts here if he wasn't careful.

"No one asked you to stay back with me," I growled. "If you're going to be a cocky twat, then you may as well leave. I have a full schedule, one that doesn't involve putting up with your constant bullshit."

Acknowledging that he had pushed me too far, Francis raised both hands in surrender. "All right, all right, jokes aside, let's help this spirit. Although, I thought we were having a bonding moment. We both knew we would stay back without having to tell each other. It's adorable, non? How in tune we are with each other?"

"I'll repeat myself again, Frog. Focus, or stop wasting my time."

Francis's shoulders slumped, bored that he couldn't poke fun at me anymore. "Oui, oui, je sais," he muttered.

"Pardon our intrusion," I spoke up, "but, if there is anyone else here in this auditorium, please speak up. We are spiritual communicators and have no other intentions but to help you cross over to the other side. You don't have to be afraid that we can see you. I assure you, we mean no harm."

"What he said," Francis purred. "I can sense much stress and fear from you. Let us make it all go away."

"What are you, a spiritual prostitute?" I snorted. "You sound like you're trying to seduce it into bed."

"Am not!" Francis gasped.

"Are too!"

 **BANG! BANG! BANG!**

The ceiling shuddered and creaked.

"Hello?" I whispered, a bit frightened from how violent the sound was. "I'm sorry for my friend, truly I am. He's a good guy once you get around his ring of obnoxiousness. I won't argue with you like I do with him, promise."

"You're such a miserable grouch, mon dieu! I'm half convinced you're possessed by a bitter 80 year-old-man," Francis growled, walking up to me, a sneer on his usually languid, dreamy face.

Even though we were the same height, I straightened my shoulders and jabbed an angry index finger at him. "Now you listen here! Just because I'm not letting you waltz right into my life with opened legs, doesn't mean you have to be so immature about it. I told you this from the beginning. I'm an asshole. Stop pointing out the obvious, and let's just get this over with, Christ! Either deal with me or leave! I won't repeat myself again!"

"Ohonhonhon!" Francis cracked up, a pervy expression on his face. "Open legs, huh? What an interesting choice of words."

"It's a saying, you tart. No need to get literal!"

 **BANG! BANG! BANG!**

"Oh look, you made it angry."

"Moi? I did no such thing!"

Francis and I both fell silent when the sound of heavy footsteps pattered against the back of the auditorium. No one was there when we looked over our shoulders, however.

"What in the-?" I spluttered. "I'm starting to think we're dealing with a poltergeist. It's the only explanation. It's likely just messing with us."

 _I'M SORRY! PLEASE, DON'T LEAVE ME!_

A voice, unmatchable to anything I've ever heard before, screamed in my mind. Judging by Francis's equally petrified and intrigued expression he had heard it too.

"Q-quoi? We're not leaving, we're right here?"

"Idiot, this place isn't being haunted by an active ghost," I concluded, all of the pieces fitting together. "It's a memory. Something here must have triggered it into existence again. The bangs will stop eventually, there's nothing more we can do."

"Ah… I see now." Francis hummed in understanding.

When a person died, fragments of memories often spread and attached themselves to objects or places meaningful to them. Someone here must have triggered the memory by thinking or saying something, likely on accident. I'd give it a couple days before the memory faded away again.

The problem was, despite the lingering memory, I had no idea if the actual spirit had passed on or not. Spirits lived in different planes of existence. Most times, they didn't realize they were dead and lived their lives normally, creating sounds that those alive would consider to be a haunting. This occurrence, however, was just a memory replaying itself. It wasn't the spirit themself.

Just as Francis and I prepared to leave, Gilbert, Antonio, and Lovino poked their heads into the classroom. I deadpanned upon realizing they had been standing outside in the hallway this entire time.

How much did they know?

"So…" Gilbert drawled, stumbling into the auditorium again, red eyes wide in apprehension. "What the hell just happened?" he put ever so eloquently.

Francis and I glanced at each other, not wanting to reveal too much. You never knew how someone would react to this kind of news. It was the bad, ostracizing reactions that prevents us communicators from telling people about our abilities.

Antonio ended it all by bluntly blurting out what the other two were thinking. "You guys can speak to ghosts? Ay! That would make a lot of sense. I knew you saw something in that wardrobe, Arturo!"

"I sure did," I muttered to myself, solemn at the thought.

"Honestly, what the fuck is even happening anymore?" Lovino followed Antonio and Gilbert into the auditorium, still hesitant as the bangs quieted, but didn't exactly stop.

"Oui," Francis stepped in, since it was obvious I wasn't going to say anything. "We are known as spiritual communicators, or mediums to put it more simply. There is no reason to worry. There are no spirits in this room."

"Ja, we heard. You said something about a memory. Anyway, I'm freaked the shit out, but also strangely excited?" Gilbert grinned. "Why did you bozos hide this from us? You're like real life ghostbusters!"

"Because normally when you tell someone this, they get weirded out," I countetred.

"Everyone here is strange, I honestly don't give a fuck about who or what you are so long as you're not an asshole. What just happened is enough evidence in itself, so you don't have to worry about us not believing you either," Lovino sighed, looking done with life. Same.

"Like Lovi said, you were already weird to begin with," Antonio smiled obliviously. "Honestly, we would have accepted you two either way. Now I feel even safer knowing that you guys won't let any scary demons possess us. My parents didn't want me coming here because of the rumours of it being haunted! They can sleep sound now!"

Lovino smacked the back of Antonio's head. "Idiota! What did I say about being rude to people in person?"

Antonio whined.

Meanwhile, Gilbert was still ogling at us 'mediums' like a child. "Hey, Fran? Do you think you could get in touch with my Gramps? He had a bunch of funds in the bank, but no one can access them because there's a shit ton of security locks. Can you? Huh? Huh? Oh gott, please man. I've been wanting to buy a new car for so long now, but that stingy old fart's accounts aren't supposed to open up for another year. I'm dying here!"

Gilbert's poor choice of words completely triumphed over mine.

"Imbeciles," I shook my head, shoving past Antonio to leave the auditorium.

"Where are you going?" Francis reprimanded, pausing his mini morality lecture with Gilbert. "We still have much to explain."

"I don't have to explain shit!" I called over my shoulder. "I've experienced enough stupidity for an entire week. I need time to recover the brain cells I lost."

The clack of Lovino's dress shoes were quick to catch up with me. "Agreed. Oi, let's get some coffee, my treat?" he offered.

"Sure, why the hell not?"

Before Antonio could join us, Lovino rudely shut the auditorium's door in front of the Spaniard's face.

I couldn't help but laugh.

…

Jittery and anxious already, the coffee I had with Lovino offered no aid in calming my nerves.

As always, after class I found myself in the library, sitting at the front desk even though I wasn't on shift. I was flipping through the cameras again, going over last night's footage. The ghost always came to snatch the food when I wasn't around – it was infuriating.

Matthew, still caught in my lie, found it funny how I was trying to find a rational explanation for the food's disappearance.

"Still scanning the footage, huh?" Matthew mused as he entered the library. He shook his head, soft curls falling out of his eyes as he draped a casual arm over the front desk. "You're so predictable, Arthur."

"I can't help it," I responded. "I'm a very routine-orientated person."

"I can tell," Matthew smirked. "So, come up with or find anything?"

"No, nothing at all," I groaned.

"I'm telling you, this library is the most haunted place on campus. For _decades_ , my family has dedicated themselves to taking care of it. Are you really just going to discard everything they've seen with their own two eyes? Or how about me? I've seen things move without anyone touching them."

I rubbed my temple. "It's all either bollocks or hearsay. I'll believe you when I see it myself. Although," I paused, contemplating my next few words carefully. "I checked the records. It really is unbelievable how many students have committed suicide on the rooftop here. I didn't know this school used to double as a boarding school for high school students either. The information was so well-hidden. It's like the Deans went out of their way to hide it."

Matthew's eyes became sad. "You didn't know that? And yes, very true. The high suicide rate was a huge reason why my grandmother starting hosting a homework club here, actually."

I furrowed my brows in confusion. I remembered him mentioning something about losing a relative in a tragedy like this, but I was having a hard time connecting the dots.

"Oh," Matthew smiled sheepishly. "That relative of mine, they went to the boarding school, but that's completely unrelated. Basically, the club was founded to prevent more suicides; there hasn't been one here since, so I think it's safe to say that it's been really successful in its objective. The homework club offers a safe place for struggling students to come together and make friends. We help each other out and just talk, you know? You're always welcome to join too if you want. I'm sure you've seen the posters. We meet on Fridays here on the first floor."

"That's a wonderful idea," I admitted. "No one wonder it's done so well. But, I'm afraid this is the first I'm hearing from it."

Matthew looked disappointed; he had a talent for living under the radar. "Well, it does have its drawbacks," Matthew sighed. "Recently, I've been tutoring this German guy. His writing is decent, but he still refuses to accept that he can't use the word awesome every two sentences."

"I know someone very similar," I bitterly remarked. "Writers who can't accept criticism just aren't cut out for the field I suppose."

"Eh, I'll get through to him eventually. He's actually a pretty good guy once you brush past his ego."

"Best of luck to you then," I smiled faintly, standing up from my seat.

"Going to the rooftop… again?" Matthew asked, somewhat pensive.

"Yes," I flushed at the reminder. Alfred was my friend, nothing else. I could still enjoy spending time with him.

"There's a wonderful pair of benches and the scenery helps my muse. I always come up with the best writing ideas there. Besides, I'm not the only one who thinks that way. I have a _friend_ I usually sit and chat with," I rambled, overcompensating with my explanation because of the strange look Matthew was giving me.

"That's good, I guess," Matthew shrugged. "It's just a bit odd, considering…"

'Yes, yes, I know," I filled in for him. "It has a depressing history and what not. Still, that shouldn't stop other people from enjoying it."

Matthew smiled. "You're right. Sorry if I seemed judgemental there. I didn't intend to be."

I laughed. "I've experienced far more judgemental things in my life, lad. No worries."

I left the front desk. "See you later," I said, waving over my shoulder with my knapsack haphazardly draped over my left shoulder.

"Take care," Matthew replied back.

When Arthur was out of sight, Matthew pursed his lips, watching the stiff posture of the Brit with narrowed eyes.

"He's definitely hiding something from me," the Canadian whispered to himself. "…I just hope he's okay."

 **To be continued...**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N** : Anyone have any theories yet :p?

* * *

Mid-October…

Prof. Braginski dismissed us from the lecture fifteen minutes earlier than usual. The new location of the lecture was desolate, much farther from the other buildings on campus. This was already the third switch up of classrooms; the class was down to half its size. Most students dropped out because of the course's inconsistency, choosing to take the online version instead.

Francis, Antonio, Lovino, Gilbert, and myself, on the other hand, stubbornly stuck it through with the original course. We were very much visual learners and had to see the material presented to us in order to truly engage with it.

Although, it was hard to listen to Prof. Braginski without feeling sorry for him. The man looked like he hadn't caught a wink of sleep judging by the dark bags under his eyes. Everyone in the University stayed far away from him because of the paranormal rumours attached to his reputation.

Hell, we'd all experienced the random bangs and moans of ghosts haunting the classrooms he taught at. Although, only Francis and I could hear the latter. Still, it was hard to dispute for anyone that there was some sort of paranormal activity going on.

So far, this third location proved to be the quietest in terms of hauntings. The lights flickered, but that's about it. We were located in a dingy basement of a church, using desks that were hardly big enough to place a laptop on. It was crowded and humid despite the cool fall weather outside.

Just as I was about to leave with Francis – we managed to tolerate each other now, and could even be considered just a tad bit more than acquaintances – Prof. Braginski asked me to stay back.

I complied and met the professor at the front podium.

Prof. Braginski gathered his papers before neatly placing them in his briefcase. "Ah, Mr. Kirkland, I've been meaning to speak to you for a while now," he said apologetically, snow-white hair shining under the artificial fluorescent lights.

"I'm sure you're aware that you've received the highest mark in the class for the first one-shot assignment, da?"

I nodded my head. My cheeks became warm. I was unsure of myself and quite frankly didn't know how to react to praise. "Yes, sir, you sent me an email to inform me of this last week."

Prof. Braginski straightened, readjusting his scarf in preparation for baring against the cold weather. "That long ago, huh?" he chuckled. "My apologies. If it's any consolation, I have been quite busy lately with booking new classroom locations, as well as re-grading assignments. Many people in the class weren't pleased with the results they received. Most of the time, these are the students who don't attend any of my lectures."

I nodded awkwardly, still unsure of what to say. The Russian was very intimidating up-close. He looked like he was capable of cracking a spoon with his thumb alone.

"Anyways, I just wanted to congratulate you," Prof. Braginski continued. His violet eyes shined with kindness. "I know what's its like to be an emerging writer. It's tough, because you never truly know if you're good enough. You're always criticizing your writing, unable to see the talent laying right out before you like a shining beacon. Doubt is blinding like that.

"I try to tell students not to think that way when they get better. Just because you improve doesn't mean that you were horrible before… I expect a lot of things from you, Mr. Kirkland. It was an immense pleasure reading your work. You just have such a way of getting down to the gritty details of how a character feels. It was almost paralyzing to read, and yet, I couldn't unglue my eyes from the paper."

"T-thank you, sir," I stammered robotically. "This means a lot to me. Really, it does."

"Anytime," Prof. Braginski smiled. "All it takes is a bit of encouragement. We writers, we're always so insecure about ourselves. Sometimes all it takes is a little push from someone who knows exactly what you're going through."

"I know what you mean," I replied, wide-eyed. Briefly, my thoughts traced back to Alfred before focusing on Prof. Braginski's slightly hooked nose. I was too shy to establish direct eye contact with him.

"So, have you started on the second prompt yet? I'm sure that you have. The deadline is fast approaching. What is it? Two weeks until it's due?"

Our second prompt was to write a historical fiction piece. The time or genre didn't matter so long as it was before 1960. We could depict anything we wanted to.

"Yes, sir," I answered politely. "I've begun research in the library, and intend to continue it right now, actually. This was my last class of the day."

"Oh, well, I won't keep you for much longer then," Prof. Braginski pursed his lips in approval. "Now, keep in mind this offer may not stand if I decide to leave next semester, but if I do decide to stay, I'm always looking for an assistant. This position would build you a lot of credit, and I'd be happy to invite you to a writer's residency program afterwards. I see lots of potential in you, and I would hate for it to go unrecognized."

"I…I don't know what to say other than thank you," I said, mouth gaped open like a bloody idiot. "I don't know what I did to deserve–"

"Nyet! None of that," Prof. Braginski interrupted, kindly. "You deserve every opportunity this world gives to you. I only offer this to students who I believe have a future in writing. Don't question it, but rather accept your talent for what it is and hone in on it; tweak it; perfect it; and then, share it to the world, touch and reach the hearts of others, and maybe then, you'll achieve the happiness you've long sought after."

There was a knowing look in Prof. Braginski's eyes as he clapped a hand over my shoulder. "When I was your age, I was stunted by a fear of rejection. It brought me many pains, and…" he paused. I could almost swear that tears were swimming in his old, wise eyes.

"…some 'experiences' I would rather not talk about. The point is, Mr. Kirkland, is to never let doubt plague you from achieving what you want. Don't think, act. Now go, you have another marvelous one-shot to write for me. I very much look forward to reading it once it's complete."

Stunned, I stumbled forward. I had completely blanked out and forgotten what I had said to Prof. Braginski as I left the lecture room.

I was finally able to breathe again once I made it into the library.

The relief didn't last long as I had to duck and creep past the study tables on the first floor. Matthew was holding his weekly Friday Homework club session, and since Francis was a stalker, he had long decided to attend them.

All right, to be fair, Gilbert first went to the meetings, and since Gilbert went, Antonio and Francis went too. Lovino was also forced to attend because of Antonio.

What was important was that Francis mainly came to these meetings because he wanted to check up on me. I avoided him because I didn't want him to find out what I was doing here, other than working. I'd solve the case of the rooftop without his help, thank you very much.

It was hard enough coming up with excuses of why I couldn't attend the meetings as all five of us walked over to the library _together_ after class. Apparently, studying alone was beginning to lose its potency as an effective justification for not joining them.

Francis turned and eyed the bookcase I was using to hide/ walk behind. He was waiting for me to walk into the library, likely planning to use another guilt-trip tactic. Just because I tolerated him now didn't mean that I wanted to spend every waking minute with him. Living together was more than enough.

Sapphire eyes narrowed before shifting their gaze to Matthew, who had cleared his throat several times to garner the Frenchman's attention.

"Francis, focus on your work!" Matthew timidly scolded. He had about as much assertiveness as an endangered baby panda.

"Ah…oui," Francis bashfully rubbed the back of his neck.

"Kesesese! Oh look, you made the little birdie angry," Gilbert cackled.

"Gilbert, what did I say about you calling me that?" Matthew deadpanned.

"I'll keep calling you as such until you finally agree to go out on a date with me," Gilbert countered, a definite smirk on his face judging by the tone he used. "They don't call me five meters for nothing…"

Lovino yawned, picking up his phone. "Hi, yes, operator? I'd like to report a case of unnecessary sexual harassment."

Antonio snickered. Lovino's comment was unnecessary. Shy as he was, Matthew was more than capable of looking after himself.

"I'm starting to think that they call you five meters because of all the restraining orders people have filed against you," Matthew huffed.

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Smirking, I left for the rickety metal staircase leading up to the third floor. I couldn't use the elevator, since it was in plain sight of the study group. God forbid that I had more than one social interaction today.

I wanted to look at the records' section again. I was contemplating doing a piece about someone who had lived here in the past. Obviously, I would adjust the storyline and names and keep it tasteful, but I think it would be interesting if I wrote about what it was like to have attended this university many years ago. The spirits here that I've met already only attested to how rich and dark the school's history was.

But, before I got to that, I had a certain yank to greet. Alfred waited for me at 4PM on weekdays where we met and chatted on the library's rooftop. On the weekends, we had also grown accustomed to studying at the 'food' table in the fiction section together. As you can probably guess, I had yet to come up with any leads about the food snatching.

Not yet anyway.

The moment I stepped foot onto the rooftop, Alfred exploded. He was even more jittery than usual. "Dude, where were you? You're late! I…I was beginning to worry," he trailed off, solemnly reseating himself as I sat next to him on a bench. He was perfectly comfortable with me sitting next to him now.

"Sorry, one of my professors asked me to stay back," I apologized for reasons inexplicable. When Alfred pouted like that I immediately felt sorry regardless if his sadness was irrational or not/

"He wanted to congratulate me for doing well on my first assignment. You know, the one I sent in last month?" I explained.

Alfred angrily scribbled in his notebook. "Yeah, yeah, you told me," he muttered. "Good for you."

I rolled my eyes. "What's wrong now?"

Alfred ignored me. His cheeks weren't just pink from the cold.

"Alfred, don't be a twat. Tell me."

"I thought you got tired of me and weren't going to come again!" Alfred blurted out. "Sorry! I know I'm being irrational!" he chuckled. "Anxiety man, it really likes to mess up your brain, huh?"

"You're correct. You are being irrational. We've been friends for how long now? Six weeks? Seven? I'm not just going to abandon you, Alfred. I couldn't stand it if I did. Loud and crude as you may be, I truly enjoy talking to you. Just like you keep encouraging me to believe in myself, I'll do the same for you. I _like_ being your friend."

"Say that. Say it again."

"Why?" I smirked.

"Please?"

"I like being your friend, Alfred," I huffed, crossing both my arms and ankles. Great, how was I going to tell him that I had to leave him to do research?

Alfred broke out into a grin. "Thanks, buddy. I really needed that."

I shrugged. "Anytime. Honestly, you can be so weird sometimes."

Alfred ignored me again and began jotting down more ideas in his notebook. I had to look away when his tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth.

"So," I let out a deep breath, the air clouding around my mouth. "How's class going for you? Are you working on an assignment?"

"Nope, just brainstorming ideas for my War AU," Alfred chirped. "I can do that literary bullshit essay late at night like I usually do. Class is good, boring, but good. You?"

I deadpanned. Classic Alfred. If something didn't peak his interest, he would torture himself and leave an assignment at the very last minute. What infuriated me was that he got higher marks than students who had started weeks before him. He was naturally talented. If only he put more effort into his studies…

Alfred was bright, but not keen.

I faltered. I didn't want to leave Alfred just yet. Watching him work and brainstorm was a guilty pleasure of mine. He wore his emotions on his face. My heart fluttered every time his eyebrows would furrow, lips pursed in thought, cerulean eyes sparking with determination. I'll repeat myself again: he was beautiful, _stunning, gorgeous_ , but I couldn't have him.

"Hey," I started. "I'm supposed to write a historical piece for my next one-shot. Would you… mind if I took a look at your ideas? I could really use the inspiration."

Alfred's head shot up, blond cowlick bouncing. His expression was more surprised than anything else, but he didn't look opposed to it. "Sure, man. Suit yourself. Not that any of this is good."

He handed the bounded notebook to me. I intended to cradle it gently, as it was very valuable to him, but ended up gasping as the notebook landed sharply on my lap – it was a lot heavier than I had expected.

"Jesus Roosevelt Christ!" I cussed. "How much does this thing weigh?"

Alfred blushed, placing a gloved fist over his mouth. "I don't know…this is years of ideas and ink you're looking at."

"Clearly," I said as I flipped through the notebook. Several extra notebooks and papers had been clipped into the binding, which explained the extra weight. Still, it was unimaginable how much this thing weighed. I could barely hold it up without feeling like my wrists were about to snap.

"Say something already!" Alfred spluttered, red up to his face, neck, and ears. "You're killing me here!"

After some time had passed, I closed the notebook having briefly glanced over the plot and historical notes. I didn't need to do this, I was merely fibbing around so that I didn't have to leave Alfred right away.

I had told myself before that I wouldn't stay this long. Half an hour later, and it still wasn't enough. Spending time with Alfred was like a drug. You craved it, needed it. Instead of a high, he gave me praise and acceptance. To me, this was the only satisfaction I would ever need and couldn't nearly get enough of.

"It's so thorough," I remarked in awe. "And here I thought I was a good researcher. I can't imagine how much thought was put into this. And the characterization, my word! You really root for Allen to survive the war in the end. It's just a pity that it seems like you're intending to have his mental health be his final undoing. You're not going to kill him off, are you?"

Alfred's solemn expression indicated the opposite.

"That's so cruel!" I complained.

"Yeah, well, life is unfair like that," Alfred grumbled, leaning back to drape his arms over the bench. God, how I wanted him to wrap his arms around me.

I fidgeted with my hands, thinking about how I was going to break the news to Alfred. He treasured our time spent together just as much as I did, only for different reasons.

"Thank you for showing me something so personal," I murmured softly. "That was very sweet of you."

"Did it help?"

"Yeah," I smiled. "I really think that it did. Which brings me to my next point. I'm afraid I can't stay here any longer. I have some research to do for the piece, and now that my professor is expecting a lot more from me, it's got to be absolutely perfect."

I stood up and slung my backpack over my shoulder.

Alfred spluttered. "Wha–?! You're leaving?! Already?!"

I gave Alfred a sad look. "Yes, that's what I just said, didn't I?"

"No!" Alfred fumed. He slammed his notebook into his satchel.

"What do you mean, no?!" I snapped, irritation setting in.

"You heard me, Artie," Alfred growled. He curled his gloved hands into fists as he stood up to loom over me. "This is our daily meeting time, so wherever you go, I go."

"Alfred," I deadpanned, promptly ignoring the putrid nickname. "You can't just follow me around. I have work to do."

"Yes I can! Watch me!"

"You're going to get bored," I shook my head in disbelief. Meanwhile, my heartbeat sped up, hammering in my chest uncontrollably. He was going out of his way to spend time with me. Me.

"No, I won't. Now stop talking, and get researching. I'll eat and supervise."

I scoffed when Alfred pulled out a PB & J sandwich from his bomber jacket. He really fancied those from the school's cafeteria.

"Fine," I growled. "Just don't be too loud. And that means chewing with your mouth closed!"

"Yep! Mhmmghgph."

"Oh dear god," I sighed, holding open the door leading back into the library for him. "How can you switch from being sweet and endearing to insufferable in thirty seconds flat?"

Alfred swallowed heavily. "Beats me."

"Don't you have something better to do? How come you don't socialize with your actual classmates?" I asked. I let go of the door and it swung shut with a satisfying click.

This was something I had always wondered. I only ever saw Alfred in the library, or very rarely in the cafeteria. I didn't know what he did in his spare time, let alone which dorm building he was residing in. He was a mystery, but I never asked these things out of fear of breaching his privacy and very fragile personal bubble.

We walked together comfortably on the soft padded carpeting and approached the balcony railing that overlooked the entire library. I took a sharp right and Alfred followed.

"I do," Alfred replied. "But you're the one I hang out with outside of class. I like you the most. I'm getting better at initiating conversations, though! It must be because of the practice I have with you."

Of all people, the yank had learned how to better socialize from me. How ironic.

Still, that comment made me blush furiously; I had to turn away. If he kept saying things like that…

"So!" Alfred whistled. "What type of reaching are ya doin'?"

"I'm looking up biographies or newspapers about people who used to attend the university several years ago. We're supposed to write a story about the past. I figured I would write a historical fiction piece about one of the lores people on campus like to gossip about. I mean, seriously. If I hear one more suicide horror story, my ears are going to bleed!" I sighed.

Alfred inhaled sharply. "That's uh, real weird, Artie. Where are you taking us anyway?"

"You mean where am I going?" I smugly corrected. "You're the one following me, remember? And, the records section, of course. I have to base this piece on someone, even if I am going to change up a few things."

"Oh," Alfred squeaked.

I stopped abruptly, turning to shed Alfred with an annoyed glare. "Let me guess," I started. "You're afraid there's going to be more ghosts in this section?"

"Well, yeah dude, that's a fact! I know this library from head to toe! I…uh came here a lot earlier in the summer than you did! The records section is the worse because it's about real people! I would know, I used to sit there before I moved to the rooftop!"

"Tsk! You're such a baby."

"Am not!" Alfred protested.

"Are…" I turned around and realized that Alfred was gone.

I nearly jumped three feet in the air when Matthew came walking around a nearby bookshelf. "I thought I heard you up here, Arthur. Francis was looking for you earlier. He wanted you to come down and join us, but the meeting's over now… Eh, who were you talking to? I thought I heard another voice?"

"Oh just some ridiculous yank who's a total baby and is scared of ghosts!" I spoke up just in case Alfred was nearby.

"How nice, you made a friend," Matthew smiled. He looked eerily maternal. I stifled a sigh. "I'll let you two fight it out then," he smirked. There was a knowing expression on his face. "And Arthur?"

"Yes?"

"You should really start coming to the meetings. Your _other_ friends in it would really like you to go."

"Maybe," I shrugged.

"Mhmmm. Bye now."

"Like hell I will," I finished when Matthew's soft chuckles had faded away.

Without a certain loud-mouth to interrupt me, I began pawing through several records. I flipped through maybe five of them before jumping again at the sound of a pop can opening.

"What the hell are you doing?!" I hissed, angry because I had nearly dropped the record book I was holding.

Alfred guzzled down a can of Fanta. "What?" he whined, letting out a loud "AH!" as the carbonated bubbles scraped at his throat. "There was a vending machine nearby and I wanted something to wash the sandwich down."

I pointed a sharp index finger at a bin around the corner. "Garbage, now. You know full well that I work at this library. You're breaking one of the only rules here."

"But Artieeee!"

"Don't you 'but Artie' me! Now I'm going to count to ten, and if that's not in the garbage by the time I'm done…"

"I'm not doin' it."

"1…"

"…"

"2…"

"…"

"3…"

"Fine! Whatever! Be a stick in the mud, see if I care."

"Hmmph! That's what I thought," I conceitedly murmured to myself, and then smugly resumed my research.

Alfred had his revenge when he snuck up on me from behind and lightly jabbed at my sides with his thumbs.

"Gotcha!"

"AH!" Since I was a very ticklish person, I jolted and accidently elbowed Alfred's stomach.

"OOMPH!" Alfred turned and staggered backwards. He grabbed at my waist to prevent himself from falling. All he managed to do was bring me down with him.

Disorientated, it took me a solid thirty seconds before I was aware of my compromising position. I was straddling Alfred.

Horror quickly set in.

Much to my surprise, Alfred didn't panic. Instead he laughed, squinting up at me as his glasses were left askew on the bridge of his nose. His cerulean eyes seemed bluer under the fluorescent lights; it was an indescribable shade.

So was how red my face was.

"Bahahaha! Your face!" Alfred reached out to pinch my cheeks. "It's so red!"

Silence.

"Oh, go fuck yourself!" I scowled and rigidly crawled off him. I stood up and brushed off the dirt from my pants, attempting to maintain some dignity.

"Aw, Arthur come back!" Alfred protested, scrambling to his feet. "It was just a joke, I'm sorry. I'm also sorry for messing up your research!"

I looked over my shoulder, lips pursed in a death glare. "Good night, Alfred. I'll see you tomorrow," I grudgingly admitted that last part. I could never stay mad at him for too long. The way that his hair stuck up unevenly from the fall almost made me laugh, almost.

"Night!" Alfred giggled. He was shaking his head as if I were the weird one.

Unfortunately, I had a much larger problem in my pants to hide and eventually get rid of.

…

Several hours later…

…

I furiously rubbed at my eyes, hoping to alleviate a late-night grogginess spell. Each day, I had a set number of course readings and work to do. If I didn't finish what I had set out to accomplish, I wouldn't be able to sleep. Perhaps, this was my OCD, but I absolutely despised being behind on my work. My anxiety simply wouldn't be able to handle it.

I was stubborn, but at least this trait didn't bring me unnecessary stress caused by procrastination. Yes, Francis, I'm talking about you.

As of now, the Frenchman had gone to bed early, intending to get some beauty sleep. For once, he wasn't out partying. Either way, he was a chronic procrastinator. Just watching him do his assignments at the last minute gave me high blood pressure, and I didn't even like him!

"Come on," I grumbled to myself, both squinting and widening my eyes. The pages were getting fuzzier and fuzzier.

It didn't help that my level of focus was next to shit since the incident with Alfred in the library a few hours ago. I couldn't stop thinking about it, and when I did, I would cringe so hard stars danced before my eyes.

I leaned against the frame of my bed and straightened my posture. I had lost count how many times I've cracked my shoulders and spine. It was taking me over three hours just to get through thirty pages of material. Normally, something like this would take me an hour and a half at most.

A voice in my head begged for me to sleep, and my heavy-lidded eyes pleaded for this as well.

I hadn't realized that my eyes had already closed until a large bang against my windowsill startled me back into focus. Again, with the irony here.

"I'm probably just imagining things," I muttered. "Come on now, only ten more pages to go. I can do this."

Not thirty seconds later, my window banged again.

Irritated, I swung my legs over the bed. The cold tiling pressing into the soles of my feet caused me to wince in discomfort. I padded over to the window anyway and narrowed my eyes.

"AH-! FUCK!" I gasped without a shred of elegance. A tall, hulking figure was perched on the tree outside my window. They were on the closet branch, waving at me with a massive hand. Were they going to throw a rock at me this time?

What if it was those delinquents from the bar area? Did they know where I lived now?

Panic crept up my throat. I could hardly breathe, and yet, I was frozen; motionless; terrified of what would happen next. Tears pricked at my eyes, but I willed them back.

"Artie!" The figure bellowed. Their voice was muffled by the glass panelling.

The clouds outside cleared. Under the moonlight, a gleam of spectacles and cerulean eyes reflected back at me.

I grabbed at my chest as if it would somehow stop my heart from beating as fast and unhealthily as it was now.

"Alfred!" I snapped. "What the hell are you doing here?! It's one in the morning!"

Alfred motioned for me to open the window. "Can't hear you, dude!" he mouthed, gloved hands cupped around his mouth. There was a devilish smirk on his face that just didn't sit right with me.

Because I was embarrassed, I couldn't stop myself from being rude. I wasn't expecting company, not ever, but certainly not at this hour. I was wearing sweats and a hoodie; being presentable was far out of the question.

 **SLAM!**

I opened the window harshly, lips firmly set into a scowl. "I said, what are you doing here?! It's one in the morning, you imbecile!"

This was the first time I had seen Alfred outside of the library or cafeteria. I was being bombarded with too many surprises I wasn't nearly prepared enough to deal with.

Alfred shrunk back. "I…ah…wanted to apologize for earlier. I didn't mean to scare you off. I only meant to tease ya, and I guess it really backfired, huh?"

I blushed at the reminder. I couldn't even bring myself to think of what I had done when I had gotten home. Looking myself in the bathroom mirror in shame afterwards was more than enough.

"Apology accepted," I scoffed. This whole encounter was just too ridiculous for me to process. "I'm sorry too. I get flustered easily. Although, what you're doing right now isn't helping. How did you even find out where I live?"

Alfred's face brightened. "You told me you lived in the Gaul dorm, remember? This window was the only one with the lights on, and since you're always studying, I figured this would be your room," he explained. "You're very predictable, Arthur. It doesn't take a genius to figure you out."

"Brilliant," I remarked sarcastically. "You're a true detective if I've ever seen one."

"So," Alfred shifted nervously. "You wanna come out and gaze at the stars with me?"

"Honestly," I crossed my arms. "You make no bloody sense. First, you come to apologize to me when you could have done that tomorrow, and now you expect me to sit with you on a flimsy tree branch that likely won't be able to hold up both of our weights?"

"I didn't want to wait!" Alfred blurted out. "It was really bugging me. You just left so abruptly. I thought I hurt your feelings and then I felt really shitty about it and then I couldn't sleep, so I came here because residence doesn't let you in past 11 PM and now you're being really mean and ah! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Crap! You must think I'm so weird… Also, this branch is a lot sturdier than it looks, man! I mean, it's holding up my dead weight, ain't it?!"

Silence.

Alfred rubbed at the back of his neck, biting his lip. He was breathing heavily, too petrified to form a coherent sentence.

I caved almost immediately. Seeing Alfred be sad like this was too painful to watch.

"Fine," I sighed. "But if I fall, I'm suing you. And are you really that surprised that I'm being mean to you? I thought you were trying to assault me! You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"Oh god!" Alfred gasped, his expression sheepish. "I didn't think of that! Not that I think anything through, ahaha!" he laughed nervously. "I just thought it was a nice night to enjoy. You would see it for yourself if you came out here."

"Well, I can't do that if you're not going to help me," I countered. "Not everyone has the figure of an Olympic athlete like you. I'm not exactly made for climbing."

Alfred smirked and crawled closer to the window. He extended a gloved hand, smug in all of his entirety. "My fair and pasty dude, may I escort you onto this branch?" he mused.

"Forget it," I snarled. "If you're going to be insufferable, I'll go back to doing my work."

"No! Please!" Alfred whined. "Artie! Come on! It's so nice out! Take a break for once."

Silence.

Alfred's cerulean eyes widened, tearing up for dramatic effect. "Please," he said, waggling his massive hand at me. His long fingers grabbed at empty air.

Silence.

"Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease?"

My eyes twitched. Don't look. Don't look.

Damn it, I looked.

"Ple–!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, fine!" I snapped.

Laughing, Alfred took my hand. With a grunt, he hoisted me onto the branch. He held my waist with both hands until I settled on the branch next to him. There was a decent amount of distance between us. I pretended not to acknowledge the jolts of electricity that shot up my spine every time he had touched me.

"See, isn't it nice out?" Alfred said serenely, pointing up at the near perfect night.

I furrowed my brows. Just twenty minutes ago, it had been pitch-black out and now there wasn't a single cloud in the sky. The moon shone against us, a bright yellow orb that painted the campus with a dream-like dewy light.

"Yes, actually," I admitted, glancing at the cluster of stars dotting the night. If you looked even closer, you could just barely make out the murky trails of several nebulas. The campus was in a remote enough location where star-gazing was far easier than it was in the city.

"I can't remember the last time I was able to see full constellations," I continued. "Actually, I just haven't bothered to do something as simple as this for a long time now. You're right, Alfred. It is nice."

Alfred playfully bumped his shoulder against mine. "Thought so. You're always so busy that you never look up to enjoy the simple things in life. I've yet to see you relax. Being high-strung must be a talent of yours."

"Haha, very funny," I yawned.

"Woah," Alfred exclaimed when I began to sway without realizing. "Just how tired are you exactly?"

"Very," I murmured. "I'll be…fine."

"No, no you're not. Can I um…" Alfred faltered, craning his neck to look at me. "Can I wrap my arm around you? I just want to make sure you don't fall!"

Turns out I wasn't the only one blushing profusely.

"W-what?!" I spluttered, only to falter when Alfred shrunk back, embodying a kicked puppy position. "Well, ah, I mean, if you're comfortable doing it, sure?" I squeaked.

Without another word, Alfred wrapped an arm around my torso in support. He was warm. I could feel the heat emanating from underneath his bomber jacket.

"T-thanks," I whispered.

"Any time," Alfred just about squealed, his voice a few octaves higher than normal.

Silence, again.

I willed myself not to breathe too much. Not that I was able to. Alfred was so close. I could smell him: leather, and the gruff scent of polish and hair gel. His arms were strong in their grip. I wanted to lean closer, but knew it wouldn't be appropriate given our relationship.

Instead, I focused on admiring the night sky. If I met those wondrous cerulean eyes one more time, I didn't know if I'd be able to handle it. They weren't mine to look at. For now, I could only cherish them.

"Hey," Alfred spoke up again. His entire body was tense. If he pointed up his chin any higher, he'd surely break his neck.

"Yes?" I replied, breathless.

"I really am sorry for earlier. I shouldn't have done that."

"It's fine. You just startled me, that's all."

Alfred chuckled. "Just like I did now?"

"Yes," I smiled faintly. "Just like you did now, you stupid yank."

"Aw come on, that's not nice," Alfred chided.

"Oh shut up," I huffed. "You've patronized me enough tonight. Just let me enjoy this moment while it lasts. Soon it'll be over, and then I'll be thrust back into the never-ending cycle of lectures, papers, and mid-terms. I need an outlet to vent my frustrations onto; you just so happen to be it."

"Fair enough," Alfred snickered. "But, didn't you say something about having an annoying roommate? Don't you get to vent your frustrations onto him?"

"Oh, believe me I do," I said in loathing. "I try to avoid him most of the time, though. Unfortunately, he has a tendency to find me wherever I am. Our meeting spot on the rooftop is the only place I can hide from him."

"Is he really that bad?" Alfred asked.

"Absolutely intolerable," I shuddered. "He blasts music all day, drinks wine, and parties just about every other night. Not to mention that he constantly picks at me for, well, everything. My clothes, my diet, my hair…my writing; apparently it's really depressing and cryptic. He usually shuts up after I tell him his writing sounds like it's written from the perspective of a sixteen year old drama queen. God, I can't stand angst. Maybe it's because my life is already full of it enough as it is."

Alfred shrugged. "I don't know, dude. Maybe your roommate is just trying to pull out the best in you. I've seen what you bring for lunch. Not that I'm a master chef or anything, but bread and butter isn't enough to get you through the day. I don't mind how you dress, and as for your writing? As long as he's not malicious, it's okay to accept constructive criticism. I'm sure he cares about you a lot more than you think. He wouldn't bother if he didn't."

"Alfred," I groaned. "I'm trying to vent. I don't need a rational explanation and analysis like you're my frigging therapist. I'm angry, leave me be."

"I'm just saying," Alfred protested, albeit weakly. "It won't do ya any good if you keep pushing away people."

"You currently have your arm wrapped around me," I slyly remarked. "I hardly see that as pushing people away."

"Touche," Alfred admitted.

"How about you?" I asked, re-directing the conversation. "Surely, you can't be that great of a roommate if you're out this late at night. Aren't they going to be angry when you come back and wake them up?"

Truth is, I had no idea where Alfred lived on campus. We had never even spoken about the subject.

"Nah," Alfred waved his free hand. "I'm in a single. All I have to worry about is sneaking past my res supervisor. It was pretty easy considering most people are partying in their rooms at this time."

I nodded my head, stifling my jealousy. What I would have given to have a room to myself. If only I wasn't dirt poor. No matter, this was what I came here for. I'd get a degree and make myself a solid career.

"Are you always this impulsive?"

"Yes."

"That was a rhetorical question," I deadpanned.

"I know, it's just fun bugging you," Alfred countered with ease. "I like how your eyebrows furrow together. It's cute."

Words cannot how flustered I became after that comment.

Thankfully, a distraction in the form of a worrisome and very drunk Italian saved me from responding.

"Antonio, you bastard," Lovino slurred twenty feet below. "Come here, and sweep me off my feet. I c-can't walk, ahahaha!"

Antonio stumbled forward and giddily wrapping his arms around Lovino. "You're so cold, mi amor. That coat isn't warm enough for you. Here, allow me to help."

I had to look away for the sake of privacy when the two began to make out.

Alfred and I remained quiet until they had finally walked away.

"They're sure having a good time," Alfred said shyly, a hesitant smile on his face.

I don't know what overcame me, but suddenly, a surge of boldness balled up in my chest. Seeing Antonio and Lovino together didn't just make me jealous. I was motivated to test things out with Alfred, however small the chances they were.

If not, I was perfectly fine with being friends with him.

Still, there was a small sliver of hope. Alfred was bi. He had his arm wrapped around me. Everything was set into place, and appeared like they were in my favour. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation talking, but I didn't care.

I leaned closer into Alfred, humming pleasantly. Alfred stiffened, but didn't pull away.

Perhaps it was the sereneness of the moment, or that I was enjoying myself, but I desperately longed for more intimacy. It's been too long since I'd experienced it. After years of keeping to myself, Alfred was the first person whom I had ever kept for more than just a couple weeks at a time.

I wanted him. More than that, I trusted him.

Surprisingly, it wasn't me who made the next move.

Alfred brushed his right hand over my left. "You're not wearing any gloves," he murmured. "They…they must be cold, right?"

"Mhhhm, yeah, very cold," I said, impatiently.

I curled my fingers so that my knuckles brushed into his palm. "Tell me something, Alfred. Are you comfortable?"

"Y-yeah why do you ask?"

I flipped our hands so that I was holding onto his. "How about now?"

"Yeah…very comfortable," Alfred flushed. "I'm never shy with you, Arthur. You k-know that."

I leaned closer, pressing my face a nose's distance away from his. "How about now?" I blinked.

"I would be more comfortable if you kissed me," Alfred said, bravely meeting my eyes.

"Took you long enough, lad," I grinned. "I knew you were clever."

I wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed my lips against his. I moaned lowly when his tongue poked at my bottom lip. I opened in compliance, letting our tongues slip together in slow, experimental movements.

"Mmmph," Alfred sighed, and closed his eyes. Large, steady hands raked through my hair while my own placed themselves against his rock-hard chest.

I couldn't believe it. I was kissing Alfred Jones… and he was kissing me back no less, with just as much want and need as my own.

Our kisses became rougher, teeth clacking against each other; messily, hungrily.

I gasped when Alfred squeezed my hips, moving so that his back was placed against the trunk of the tree. Sometime in between our sloppy brushing, I had crawled over to straddle him.

"Easy," I growled. "You're going to leave bruises."

"I'm sorry," Alfred breathed into my neck, feathering the sensitive skin with delicate kisses. "I've just wanted to do this for so long now. You're beautiful, Arthur. I can't help it."

I nearly sobbed right then and there, but instead focused on drinking up the pleasure of the moment. For once, I was being called beautiful. I wasn't just thinking that of another person.

I needed a moment to breathe, to take what had just happened. I resorted to pressing my forehead against Alfred's, inhaling deeply.

Alfred grinned, rubbing his nose against mine. "You haven't said anything. I'm worried."

"That's because I don't know what to say," I replied, sliding to rest my head against his collarbone. I was too shy to make eye contact. "Here I've had a crush on you all this time, and it turns out that you feel the same way. I've never had something work out for me so perfectly like this. Forgive me for being stunned by it."

Alfred tucked his chin over my head, one arm rubbing my back in comforting circles. "Yup…" he trailed off, voice cracking. "That's me for you: I think I'm being straight forward, but I only end up confusing people. I'll probably never stop being impulsive."

"Don't!" I smirked.

"Don't what?"

"Don't stop being impulsive. It's the part of you that I like most. How you get antsy at every off-hand remark. Or how easy it is to make you happy. You're precious, Alfred. I wouldn't ever want you to change that about yourself."

"You don't know me, I mean, all of me," Alfred murmured into my hair. "I suck sometimes by being awkward and getting mad easily, you just haven't seen it yet. I say things that I don't mean. I…I… shouldn't have done this. It's a wonder why you want to be friends with me. I…always fuck things up…"

I pulled away from Alfred, alarm setting in. " _No_."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me, I said no. Don't you dare give up now. Alfred, I'm in no rush to take things farther. I'll be patient if I have to, because hell if we both don't know that I'm far from perfect myself. Still, you're the best thing that has ever happened to me. I couldn't bear it if you left, not after all that we've shared together. I would be happy even being only friends with you. Please, just don't leave."

Alfred's arm tightened around me. "Okay," he took a jagged breath. "Someone's got to protect you, right? I won't leave you, Artie. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me too. You make everything bad happening around me feel like it's nothing. I just want to see you smile; to hold you close; to make sure you…take care of yourself."

"I do take care of myself," I hiccupped into his chest.

"No, you don't. Come, I'm putting you to bed and then I'm going straight home. What kind of lunatic does homework this late anyway?"

"A nerd," I dryly replied, trying not to look too disappointed as I pulled away from him.

"I must be in love with a lunatic nerd then," Alfred smiled, shyly with a bigger one just begging to be released. He still looked so uncertain. I didn't want him to feel this way, so I resorted to being sarcastic in the hopes of teasing him out of his shell.

"And I must be in love with a grammarless yank."

"Selective grammarless yank," Alfred corrected.

"Yes, yes, whatever. Now are you going to help me into my room or not?"

"Oops, yeah, sorry."

After much protest, and awkward fumbling movements, Alfred helped me into my room. He also forced me to put my books away. I offered no protest He had an insufferable habit of making it impossible to say no to him.

Once the lights were shut and I was tucked under the covers of my bed in an angry curled position, Alfred smiled and sat next to me on the side.

"What?!" I snapped. "I did what you said, didn't I?"

"Nothing," Alfred whispered. "You just look really cute again, grumpy too."

"If you're trying to flatter or court me, it's not working," I scoffed, turning my back on him.

Alfred placed a hand on my waist. Even though there was a good amount of fabric between us, it still burned pleasantly. "Don't be like that," he tutted. "Artie, look at me."

Reluctantly, I flopped onto my other side. My glare was still in place, but my hot cheeks took away from the act. "What?" I spat.

Alfred bent over to kiss my forehead. "Good night. I should really get going, though. I'll see you tomorrow, all right?"

When he got up to leave, through the window as we had already agreed Francis seeing him would cause way too much trouble in questions, I panicked. "Wait!" I hissed.

Alfred turned around, gaping. "Huh?"

I bit my lip. "Can you…stay?"

"Only until I fall asleep!" I added when I noticed the hesitant expression on his face.

The mattress shifted with another weight again. Things didn't seem real. I was just so happy. "Okay, that I can do."

"Good," I said stiffly, and left it at that.

"Geez, Artie. Aren't you just full of surprises?" Alfred laughed lightly. "I thought you didn't need anyone else in your life?"

"Shut up. People change. It's called character development."

"Right, right. I'll just let my handsome prescence lure you to sleep."

He hadn't just been teased out of his shell. He was lounging on top of it now.

"You're lucky I'm exhausted," I warned. "Otherwise – _yawn_ – you would be expecting a good slap to the face for being so cheeky."

"Literally."

"Could you stop being such a smartass?" I snarled.

Alfred reached over to sweep a few strands of hair out of my eyes. "That I can't do," he said in a smug tone.

I rolled my eyes, too tired to argue. "Good night, Alfred. I hope you trip and fall on your way out."

"You don't actually mean that. Stop being so mean."

"You're right, I don't. But it was still fun to say."

"Shhh," Alfred smoothed the back of my head. "You can argue with me all day tomorrow. But, you won't be able to if you don't get a good night's rest."

"Very true, love."

"I just said shhh. You're so stubborn, geez. I'm going to be here all night if you don't stop."

 _Precisely_.

I hmphed but didn't say anything more. Last night was the best sleep I've had in years. Why? Because someone other than Alistair genuinely liked me for me. I didn't doze off with pervasive guilt, self-loathing or general anxiousness.

I was finally at peace.

…

The following morning, I staggered into the kitchen. I had woken up far later than usual, Alfred of course having already left some time last night.

I had a shift in an hour, so I would be able to see Alfred then. Honestly, I'd never understand why he was so adamant on being old-fashioned in everything he did. To not have a cellphone in this day and age was almost unheard of.

Francis was sitting at the small table we had set up, his laptop open with the latest news and a mug of coffee in his hands. He was already dressed, whereas my hair was sticking up in every possible direction

I pretended to ignore Francis, refusing to let him sour my good mood. Hell, if he wasn't there to stare at me, I probably would have allowed myself a small smile.

Someone liked me.

And I liked them back.

I still couldn't get over it.

I drew the last straw when Francis tsked at me for my choice in breakfast: oatmeal and a slice of toast.

"What?!" I snapped. I was standing up, eating my toast over the sink. AS if I was going to sit down with him and engage in a civil conversation. Not when he was looking at me so critically.

Francis took a slow sip of his coffee, eyebrows raised. When he finished, he set down his mug in a dramatic, languid motion.

"You've been out communicating with spirits again, haven't you?" he accused. "Arthur, it's dangerous to do it alone, especially late at night. I would have come if they were bothering you that badly."

"I did no such thing," I said, biting into my toast with a loud crunch.

Francis's eyebrows raised even higher.

"I swear to God, I didn't!" I snarled. "Stop looking at me like that. Even if I did, which I didn't, I've already told you that if I need your help, I'll ask!"

"Oui, whatever, keep lying to yourself. See if I care," Francis sighed. He stood up from his seat and exited the kitchen.

"And what's that supposed to mean?!"

Francis looked over his shoulder, sapphire eyes rolling. "I don't know, ask yourself. You're the one being suspicious."

I turned away from Francis, furious.

My curiosity peaked when I realized that he had left his laptop open. Carefully, I leaned over the device.

In the search bar, he had typed in "How to get rid of nosy roommates."

With a splutter, I blinked harshly when the webcam opened to snap a photo of me with a bright flash.

Francis poked his head into the kitchen, an obnoxious lilting smirk on his face. "What did I say: suspicious. Now I have my proof. The Arthur I know would never care about what I search, let alone think. You're unusually happy, and it's beginning to freak me out."

So much for my good mood.

 **To be continued…**


	5. Chapter 5

For once, it was peacefully quiet in the cafeteria. It was the second day of reading week, so most students had already left campus. I needed a change of space, and since there were less people around, I had no problem eating my meal here. I had this awkward aversion to eating in front of people for no other silly reason than I felt uncomposed while doing so. Usually, if I wasn't making my own meals, I'd take the meals from here and eat them in my room. Now, I didn't have to worry much about that.

I wasn't being overwhelmed by floods of people loud enough to make my ears ring, my jaw tight, or for the hairs on the back of my neck to prick. It was just me, my notes, the comfortable dim lighting, and the pitch-black darkness leaking outside from the windows. I had never felt so settled, calm, and relaxed. Late October was my favourite time of the year. I loved how it got dark out early. I loved the crisp air, as well as the smell of dead leaves that everyone else hated. I loved the warm drinks, scarves, trench coats, and the smell of pumpkins.

I loved…

No. I was in love with a certain idiot, and it was turning me into a complete sap. Smiling at this, I took a sip from the large tea I had impulsively bought. I was a lot happier these days because of Alfred. We may not have spoken the words out loud, but we both saw each other as significant others. It's almost been two weeks. To me, it felt more comparable to two days given how smooth everything has gone, like the first breath of someone who just had conquered climbing the top of a mountain.

Sure, he was still as strange as ever, what with his unexpected bouts of shyness, unfamiliar boundaries of privacy that I had still had trouble navigating, and frequent outbursts, but his heart was big enough to make up for all of that. He had a way of building me up, of making me feel so special and precious to him that I couldn't help but wonder why he's been struggling so hard to feel the same way about himself.

He thinks that I don't notice, but I do. Alfred still has his secrets, and while I respect that, I know him well enough to know that he's very insecure about something. All I can do now is be patient. Or, in his own words, nag him by constantly reminding him that I was there to talk if he needed me. It made me feel more like a parent, and the one-year age difference between us only provoked him into calling me an old man. _Ass._

He had finally told me the name of the dorm that he lived in, but prying more information from him was an ongoing battle I was still fighting. He got embarrassed whenever I suggested going to the York dorm (his dorm), as that was one of the more older buildings on campus. I was lucky with my scholarship, as it had granted me a more decent living space. Even stranger was how secretive and careful he was when spending time with me.

We mostly met in the library, or sometimes at the end of class, but never in my apartment. I had tried coaxing him to come many times, but he claimed that he wasn't ready to meet any of my friends yet. I was already used to avoiding their study group in the library, but admittedly, I would have liked to bring Alfred home with me. That first night we had spent together seemed like an unreachable dream now.

I hadn't realized that I had been staring blankly at my laptop screen until a sudden jolt and surprised yelp shook me out of my trance. Scratch that, I yelped when Alfred tripped forward with a tray of sandwiches in his hand, stubbed his toe, and then grabbed onto my shoulders to steady himself.

"AH! FRICK!" Alfred deadpanned, as one of the PB & J sandwiches slid onto the floor. Sighing, he shuffled into the booth beside me, ignoring the scowl on my face as I rubbed my sore shoulders. The yank had a grip on him like you wouldn't believe. I pretended not to see him kick the fallen sandwich under another booth, nor did I hear him whistle nonchalantly.

"How'd you know where to find me?" I sighed.

Alfred messily slammed down his tray. I raised my eyebrows at the four sandwiches remaining. "Well, duh! You're a depressing douche that always flocks to the quietest, darkest places. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure that out," he answered, and then huffed when I gave him another dead look.

He then gestured around the empty cafeteria. "It's 9PM, no one's here, and I thought, wow, wouldn't this be the perfect place for Art to claim as his writing lair? You've always told me that you write better when it's either dark out or raining. I repeat, depressing douche," he smirked.

"Okay, Mr. rocket scientist," I replied with a teasing smile. "If I'm so easy to figure out, how come your dumbass can't figure out how to use a mobile? And really? Depressing douche? That's a bit harsh, don't you think?"

Alfred's cheeks puffed up. He reminded me of a deranged chipmunk, cerulean eyes wild under the fluorescent lighting. "I'm traditional, okay?! I don't like technology! And hey! That's just how we communicate, ain't it? By insulting each other, and then making up with plenty of smooches," he said, and obnoxiously waggled his eyebrows.

I rolled my eyes and leaned to the side as Alfred attempted to drape an arm over me. In response, he crossed his arms and put on a stubborn pout. I refused to look at it, knowing that I would have given in too easily if I did.

"Oh that's right. I'll just have to get used to you sending me messages via eagle." To be fair, I never really needed to get into contact with Alfred. He had an uncanny habit for finding me, wherever I was.

"I wasn't joking! I really do have a pet eagle back home. His name is Ernie, but that's besides the point. Technology is too distracting, it takes up too much of your time. Maybe if kids learned to look up and enjoy the world a little more, they'd have more to write and think about," Alfred paused to rap his head with his knuckle.

"I see the whole world from the rooftop, and lemme tell ya, I've never been so inspired there. I really feel like this story is coming along. It's been a while since I've had so much motivation. Heck, I might even complete it by the end of this year. You make me really happy, Art. I think that has a lot to do with it."

My cheeks flushed. "Since I know there's no point arguing with you about getting a mobile, I'll just drop it. Write out your stories like a traditional caveman for all I care," I mused. "Still, I'm really happy to hear that your story is coming along well, but I wouldn't attribute it _all_ to me. You've said that you've been working on it for years. And…you make me really happy too."

I looked down at the table and bit my lip. The grin still crept onto my face, regardless.

"Yeah, but – GLOMP! – it was mostly just planning. I – GLOMP! – haven't had much inspiration to take the jot-notes and actually make something out of it. I'm – GLOMP! – still trying to understand where I want to go with the story, but you've given me that extra kick in the ass that I really needed. I haven't had a best friend, um, partner to keep me going like this. Ah, what's that glare for? What did I do to piss you off now?"

I simply ignored Alfred as he continued to shovel down the sandwiches as if his throat was a conveyer belt. He knew that it irritated me when he talked with his mouth open. It was literally impossible to have a conversation with him when he got like this.

Resigned, I attempted to resume working on my outline. The next writing assignment for my literature class was due in just under nine days, and I still wasn't sure on what I wanted to write about. Every time I went to the records section to find some kind of muse for the historical piece I intended to create, Alfred conveniently showed up and distracted me, both with his loudness and goofiness. It was immensely difficult not to be charmed or persuaded into dropping everything I was doing and kissing him, especially with those puppy-dog eyes he had unfairly mastered on using on me.

My will didn't last long, and I gave up on trying to focus. He was chewing too loudly; it was absolutely intolerable. Instead, I rested my back against the plush lining of the booth and discreetly leaned to the side so that our arms were touching.

It was time to start questioning him again. Maybe if he was distracted with eating, he would give me full answers, rather than vague ones. I looked up sharply and tilted my chin, feeling like a mother about to lecture their child. Honestly, what was it with these maternal instincts? First Matthew, and now Alfred?

Alfred tensed, unnerved as he knew what I was about to do. He still continued to eat his sandwiches, only giving me nervous side glances here and there. Snap. Snap. Snap. My mouth worked as if it was a catapult, the rubber band my tongue, and the questions, my ammo. I was determined to get something more substantial out of him tonight.

"Care to tell me how your classes are going? Do you intend to catch up on a lot of work this break? Meet anyone new? Get any grades back? Stop slouching, hunches are unattractive. How about sleep? Are you balancing everything well? What about the membership at the gym you intended on getting? Do you need me to look over your work? We should do something this break. Maybe you can finally meet my friends…"

Friends. How strange it felt to say that, but it was true.

"Art! Relax!" Alfred panicked. He set down the sandwich he was working on and spared me a sheepish glance. "School is fine, the program I'm in is more laissez-faire than yours. We work at our own pace so I'm not too stressed. Um, no. I have you, I don't really need to meet anyone el–"

"Alfred, you need to have a life outside of me. It's not healthy to have only one friend, significant other or not. Honestly, I can't believe that it's me of all people telling you that. There's no need to be afraid of people not liking you. You've got charm. You've got spunk. More than anything, you're kind, sweet, and extremely likeable. I like you, _love you_ , don't I? No one cares if you're a bit nervous speaking to new people, chances are that they are too."

I don't know how many times I've repeated that same mantra to him.

"Yeah, but…" Alfred trailed off. "I don't really need anyone else. I told you, just being around people is enough. I only really need you."

"That's not the answer I wanted to hear."

"Well, it's the only answer you're getting," Alfred stubbornly retorted. "You can't change who I am. And you think I'm unhealthy? When was the last time you ate? This morning, right?"

I pursed my lips. "I was going to eat once I finished this, but you came and distracted me," I said in an accusatory tone. "Stop changing the subject. And I'll have you know that I had lunch today. Granted, Francis made it for me without my asking, and now I have the misfortune of returning the favour, but that's not what we're talking about right now, are we?"

Alfred stonily returned my glare. "I don't want all of our conversations to always be about me. You need to eat something. If you keep rewarding yourself with food after studying, you're going to starve."

"Pardon?" I replied, confused.

"Ya know. If my handsomeness keeps distracting you from your work, then you'll never get to eat."

"Oh, eff off!" I grumbled. Alfred merely laughed. True to his oblivious self, he didn't realize how upset I was getting.

Just like that, Alfred was back to being his usual sunny self. The brief eclipse, or rather unveiling, where I got to see where his true thoughts lay were masked once more. He _always_ did this and was so calculated and meticulous in blocking me out. Usually, I would stop here. Today, I didn't.

Perhaps it was just because I was angry, or tired, or worried, or a combination of all three, but I had finally been pushed over the edge. "Stop." I whispered bluntly.

"Huh?"

"I said stop!" I exploded, and slammed a hand against the table. Several papers went flying out of place from the wind the abrupt gesture caused. "Stop it! All of it!"

Stunned, Alfred turned to look at me. "Arthur, what's wrong? What did I do? Are you…angry with me?"

"Don't you dare give me that incredulous look, Alfred. You know exactly what's making me angry! You've helped me so much over the past weeks, but whenever I try to reciprocate, you distance yourself and it drives me crazy! You need to think about yourself too. I want to know more about you. Don't… don't you see that I care about you? I hardly know what's going on in your head and it worries me.

"I want you to make friends. I want you to go beyond your comfort zone. I can't be your only comfort zone. I just can't. I'm messed up too, but that doesn't mean that we can't help each other. I want to be there for you, but I can't if you don't bloody well talk to me! This relationship is mutual. I may not be your therapist, but I damn well want to hear more than 'good, fine,' or okay' when I ask you how your day's gone. You think I don't notice how anxious you are? Please, just speak to me. I want to spend time with my boyfriend, not some automated robot that has pre-selected safe answers!"

Immediately, I buried my face into my hands. What I had just done was so impulsive. I knew that I had to be patient with Alfred, and yet, I had still gone over the edge. I had never cared about someone this much before, and didn't know how to cope with it.

Alfred stared at me in complete shock. I had half the mind to expect him to suddenly burst out into tears. His eyes were as wide as beach balls. The silence was suffocating. My eyes pleaded with him, to bring him back from this stunned state. Who knew if he was having a panic attack? Who knew what damage I had just caused to his self-esteem?

"Sorry!" I said in a cracked voice. "Oh, Alfred love, I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," Alfred smiled, surprising me. "I'm actually really flattered."

"H-have you lost your mind?" I stammered, completely uncomprehending as to what was going on.

Alfred bashfully rubbed the back of his neck. "Not at all. I've never been so sure of myself as I am with you. I don't think I've ever had someone care about me this much before…"

My heart skipped a beat. He _understood_ me so well.

"You don't have to be sorry, Arthur. I know you may not be as eloquent in showing how you feel as you do with your writing, but I get you, probably better than you do yourself if I'm to be perfectly honest. I know…I may be frustrating at times, but I'm working on it. I want all of these things for myself too," he whispered and leaned forward to tuck my bangs behind my ear.

"You can't even imagine how much it means to me that you feel this way. I just…need time." The emotion that flickered in Alfred's eyes was near indescribable. I had never seen so much conflicting emotions; longing; sadness; desire; fear. He swallowed nervously, causing his Adam's apple to bob up and down as he continued.

"I want to be honest with you, and I will be, but I'm not sure that you'll like it."

"We won't know that until you try," I chided, softly.

Alfred heaved heavily, and blinked tears from his eyes. "Please, can we talk about something else? I want to enjoy what little time I do get to spend with you. I'm nervous most of the time anyways. Wouldn't want that to carry over here."

"I don't want to be your distraction, Alfred."

"That's not it at all. You're not a distraction, far from it. You're the reason for the smile on my face. You make it easier for me to keep going. I don't just exist with you, I feel… alive. I may not be ready to tell you everything now, but I will, and I hope you can respect that."

I wasn't convinced about the distraction part. Still, I knew he genuinely loved me, and was willing to wait.

"All right, Alfred. Take as much time as you need until you're ready to tell me everything."

"I'm telling you, you're not going to like it. You'll probably want to leave me."

"Alfred?"

"Yes, Arthur?"

"Stop."

Alfred smiled. "Okay, just this once I'll listen to you."

"While we're at it, come here."

Alfred complied and leaned forward. He rested his head against my collarbone as I brought him into a hug. I smoothed his back with my hand, rubbing circles into it. "I love you, you know that?" I murmured.

"I love you too, you grump."

I ruffled Alfred's hair, the softness of the blond down never failing to surprise me. "That's enough sass out of you."

"Mhhhmm." Alfred closed his eyes and sighed in content. "I wish we could stay like this forever, not having to worry about life or any of that other stressful crap."

"Don't we all," I whispered, and swallowed a lump in my throat.

Alfred chuckled, raspy in its sound. "Only with you do I ever have such meaningful conversations. You're deep, Art. I've always liked that about you."

"On the contrary, you don't give yourself enough credit. You're beautiful on the inside and out Alfred. Don't you dare think otherwise."

"I never said that I didn't, ya know. It's not my looks that I have anxiety over. Hey, speaking of insides, let's get you something to eat."

"Convenient subject change is convenient," I rolled my eyes and released Alfred.

He sat up and offered me his last remaining sandwich. "Only the best for you, your majesty."

Scoffing, I accepted the sandwich and began taking small bites from it. I could feel Alfred's beady eyes staring at me the entire time. I snapped, unable to bear the awkwardness anymore. I saw right through him, or, at least I thought I had. Again, the idiot had a talent for surprising me.

"If you were still hungry, why did you even bother to offer me the sandwich?!" I spluttered.

"That's not what I was hungry for," Alfred purred. The satisfied and predatory grin on his face didn't fool me this time.

"Alfred, I'm not kissing you right now. It's not the time or the place, and you were incredibly vulnerable just two minutes ago."

"Stop talking, and start smooching."

Alfred leaned forward. I focused on the glare of his spectacles, rather than the cerulean eyes that were without a doubt pleading with me.

"Fine, just a peck."

"HEY!" Alfred whined.

I blocked him out and resumed eating the sandwich. Huffing and puffing dramatically, Alfred possessively wrapped an arm around me, mumbling something about how I babied him all the time. He wasn't wrong.

"Gimme a bite."

"If I turn my head, you're going to ambush me with a kiss."

"Ugh!"

I smirked. I know this might sound crazy, but I honestly wouldn't mind spending the rest of my life with this…this dork. Thoughts of us wearing ugly Christmas sweaters, drinking far too much eggnog for our own good, and competing to get each other the best present came to mind. I imagined snuggling up to him, warmed by the hearth of the fire, sleepy and content.

My chewing slowed as I realized that I would likely never get to introduce him to my family. Only Alistair would be accepting enough. Scratch that, having Alistair and Alfred in my life was more than enough.

Speak of the devil; my phone buzzed with a new text from Alistair. I would have to call him tonight, and catch up with him, but right now I couldn't be bothered. I could feel Alfred nosily leaning over the screen.

"Is that your roommate?"

"No, it's my older brother."

"Oh. So, how's life?"

"The second-hand embarrassment I'm getting from you is unbelievable."

"I'm just asking! You've been working real hard on that one-shot. Have you found inspiration for it yet?"

"No, and I won't be able to if you keep distracting me."

"Well, I'm sure you'll manage."

"Alfred, stop fidgeting. You're shaking the table."

"I can't! You're so just so darn cute. I really wanna kiss you right now. It's just my luck that you're playing hard to get."

"You're the one who never wants to come back to my apartment," I retorted, quite unfairly, but still. Don't worry, though. Alfred sure as hell got his revenge for that comment.

I gave a small gasp when Alfred gently grabbed my chin and tilted it so that I was looking at him. I nearly choked on my food, but somehow managed to swallow it down. In retaliation, I stuffed the remains of it into Alfred's wide-open mouth, erasing the shit-eating grin he had plastered on his face.

"Why thank ya! Mmmph!"

Alfred only laughed harder at my disgusted expression.

"Honestly," I growled under my breath and reached for a napkin. "You are such a child. Hasn't anyone told you how to eat without making a mess?"

"Conspiracy: I eat like this on purpose to get you and your impish lips to come closer."

"Go fuck yourself x 2," I replied without missing a beat. My heart, on the other hand, was a completely different story.

Alfred patiently allowed me to dab at his mouth and chin. I struggled as he kept breaking out into laughter, smirking and guffawing like a total buffoon. When the back of my hand rubbed against the rough stubble peppered against his jawline, tingles shot up my spine. How was it exactly that I ended up with a man as beautiful as this one?

"Ah, come on. You're being so mean," Alfred protested, albeit weakly. He was well adept in Arthur-speak to know how fondly my fuck-you's always were with him. Can't believe I just articulated a sentence like that, but let's just roll with it.

"You're right, let me make it all better." I didn't outright kiss him, but the act was still meaningful enough. I placed my forehead against his and sighed. "I want you to promise me something."

"Yes?"

"Don't you ever get scared and leave me. Believe it or not, I want you. I always have. You don't annoy me. You don't bother me, and you never will. I love how we get to tease each other and argue back and forth like a bitter elderly couple who's been married for years. You complete me, Alfred. I feel whole with you."

"…Why make me promise somethin' like that?"

"Just do it."

Alfred's arm tightened around me. "I…I promise."

I didn't have time to question him, as the sound of footsteps both made us pause. I immediately pulled away from Alfred. I could hear Antonio's shouting, as well as Gilbert's obnoxious cackles. Thankfully, the Frog didn't seem to be with them. It's not that I was ashamed to be with Alfred, far from it. I just didn't like to openly display affection in front of others.

Still, I looked at Alfred, and hope surged in my chest. Finally. Finally, I would get to introduce Alfred to my friends. "Those are my friends, you know. Do you want to meet them?" It was hard to contain the slight eagerness in my voice.

"No! I'm sorry!"

Alfred abruptly stood up and swung his backpack over his shoulder. "I can't right now. I'll um, I'll go hide somewhere. If not, I'll meet up with you tomorrow. I…I…"

Even though I was disappointed, I understood where Alfred was coming from. "I understand, love. It's fine."

Alfred gave me a guilty look. "It's not that I don't want–"

"You don't have to explain yourself. Now, go on," I waved my hand at him, "act like a ghost and disappear. I'll come up with a cover story as to why I was speaking to imaginary voices. They already think that I'm schizophrenic anyways."

That was a lie. Admittedly, I was still keeping my own secrets from Alfred. He didn't know that I could see ghosts. It's not that I didn't want to tell him. I trusted him. However, I also knew how afraid he was of them and didn't want to scare him.

"Haha. Very funny," Alfred bent over to peck my forehead. "You should make your friends disappear instead, so I can come back."

I chose not to say anything. He was being irrational, but to him, something like this was a much bigger deal than it was to me. Like he said, I just had to be patient, no matter how difficult and tiresome it could get. I was determined not to snap at him again.

I mean, I was no social butterfly myself, but my social anxiety wasn't nearly as bad as his was. Looking back on it all, I had changed so much in just under two months. My old self would have laughed and accused me of coming from a utopic nonsense land.

I trusted people now, had friends, was less pessimistic, and had a boyfriend of all things. I furrowed my brows and inhaled deeply, patiently. Yes, I could wait. I could be patient. There was no rush with things. My life was only just getting better. I would still have my bad days, and now that I had another person to care for, I would also have to learn to deal with theirs. With Alfred, there was more to gain than there was for me to lose, even with his strange habits and superstitions.

"Dude, now's not the time to stare at me and get all philosophical. Seriously, WHAT is up with that smile? It's creepy!"

I absently fixed my gaze on how the light bounced off his hair. I've never loved someone more.

"KESESESESE!" Gilbert's voice echoed.

Alfred nervously looked in both directions and jumped on the ball of his heels. "Fuck it, man! I don't have time for this! I'm out of here!"

"Take care, I don't know how or why I came to love you, but I still do," I smirked at Alfred's fleeing figure. He was heading towards the hallway that connected to the library. My best bet was that he was looking for a pillar to hide behind.

"Arthur, mi puta!" Antonio called out in greeting. "What are you doing here, all alone?"

Gilbert immediately erupted into another bout of cackles. Matthew lingered behind the two boisterous friends, looking like he seriously regretted coming here.

"I could ask you guys the same thing," I replied evenly. "I thought I'd find a quiet place to study, but it looks like my plan's just been foiled."

"Gil, you owe me five bucks," Antonio smiled. "I told you we would find the 'angry caterpillar' studying all by himself."

Gilbert laughed even harder. I still don't know why. This always happens when Antonio starts speaking Spanish to me for whatever reason. I wasn't even fazed by the fact that they had made a bet on me. They made bets on literally everything, always trying to salvage enough money for alcohol and nights out. Big surprise.

Reluctantly, Gilbert handed Antonio his money. "We got bored. Not many people stayed back for the break. Fran just left by the way. What a real class act that was by not saying goodbye to him. Totally unawesome," Gilbert scolded.

"I sent him a text," I said, and then shrugged.

"Arthur," Matthew spoke up. "You know that's not right."

"You're acting like it's possible that we'll ever get along with each other."

"You really hurt his feelings," Matthew continued.

"I did? Amphibians can have feelings?"

Silence.

"Fine, I'll call him and apologize, what else do you want me to do?"

"Maybe not be an asshat all the time?" Gilbert proposed.

"That's rich, coming from a narcissist like you."

"And so, the assholery continues," Gilbert's crimson eyes hardened. "Come on, guys. We don't need Arthur anyways."

"For?" I asked.

"I told them that I was going to the library to feed the ghost, and they wanted to come," Matthew explained. Well, that explained why he had a tray full of sandwiches in his hand. The cafeteria was just beginning to close, which was when he usually came to pick up the scraps.

"Thanks for lying to me by the way," Matthew said, sniffing in offense. Even when angered, he was still mild. "They told me all about your ability to see ghosts, but don't think I wasn't suspicious before. You wanted to figure out things for yourself, didn't you?"

Gilbert and Antonio shifted uncomfortably under the heated scope of my death glare. I had specifically told them not to tell Matthew, as it would hinder my investigation. The less people who knew about this, the better.

"Fine, you caught me. I can see ghosts. Can we talk about this another time, though? I really need to get this outline done," I sighed, and rubbed at my temples.

"Fine," Matthew pursed his lips. "But, I want you to tell me anything new that you find out about this."

"Agreed," I nodded my head. "Not that there's much to tell. I've been so busy lately. Oh, and Antonio, Gilbert?"

"S-si?"

"J-ja?"

"Tell Francis about my investigation, and I'll make your room haunted again," I threatened. "I would prefer doing this on my own, but I absolutely _do not_ want Francis to get involved in this. He butts into my life far enough as it is."

Antonio and Gilbert paled and weakly agreed. Of course, I didn't have the power to enact my threat, but they believed it to be true, and that's all that mattered.

"Matthew, I'm trusting you to make sure that they hold that promise," I warned, waggling an index finger at the Canadian.

"As long as you keep yours, I'll keep mine."

"Fair enough."

"Deal."

"Deal."

"Oi, don't forget about me," Lovino emerged from the shadows near the coffee station, his face pale with several haggard bags under his eyes. Ah, that's why he was so quiet. It looked like he had just woken up from a nap. And here I thought my sleeping schedule was out of whack. University has a habit of doing that you.

"I'll make sure those jackasses don't say a thing. I still owe you for covering my ass on that midterm."

"You mean me whispering to you all the answers?" I chuckled.

"It's not my fault that dumb fuck decided to spring a pop quiz on us. It wasn't on the syllabus!"

I blinked twice. "Actually, it was, but let's not argue over that, _again."_

"Che, fine."

"LOVI~!" Antonio sprang forward to bring Lovino into a hug. Lovino, already anticipating this, skirted to the side and smirked as Antonio had to stop himself from banging his forehead against the counter.

"Nope! Zip! Zilch! Not a peep from your dumbass mouth until I _at least_ have two cups of coffee in me."

"Guys," Matthew nearly whined. "Let's go. The library closes soon."

"You heard the boy!" Gilbert bellowed. "Onwards, my fellow ghost hunters."

"Why don't you come with us, Lovi?"

"I was already going to. I need a laugh after how much hell that last paper put me through. Seeing you piss your pants should do just fine."

"Why are you so rude?!" Antonio spluttered.

"Because of your reactions, they're priceless."

Another five minutes passed before they finally left the cafeteria, all grumbling and groaning. Miserable and hungry students or zombies, they were pretty much the same thing.

I waited. When I heard the clumsy shuffle of feet, I raised my voice and called out. "You can come out now, Alfred. They're gone."

Not a minute later, Alfred sauntered back into the cafeteria. "Geez those guys sure like to talk," he complained. "I was getting sore from standing in the same place for so long."

"Why don't we go for a walk?" I proposed. "I need to clear my mind, and it looks like you need a good stretch."

"Sure, that sounds great, actually. Very romantic. I'll even let you borrow my coat."

"I don't need your stupid–"

Before I knew it, Alfred had already put his coat on me and was holding my hand. No matter how much I scolded and protested, he kept pulling me forward. The broad shoulders and muscles under the tight black turtle neck he wore rippled with each movement. He was still rather slim, but it was all muscle.

"It's like you want hypothermia," I deadpanned.

"More like I don't want you to get it."

"I have a coat, I didn't need another one."

"Hush up, your majesty. Your magic carriage of a walk underneath the stars awaits you."

"I will literally murder you."

Alfred whistled. "Too late…"

"Huh?"

"Ya know, I had already died and woke up in heaven the moment I met you…"

Alfred shrugged at my confused expression, and looked away. Meanwhile, I couldn't stop staring at him. Something about him was off, I just didn't know what it was. He wasn't meeting my eyes, and I couldn't help but wonder: what other secrets could he possibly be keeping from me? Just thinking about this was enough to make my stomach flop.

…

One week later…

….

"Oh, for Gott's sakes, could you guys just talk to each other?" Gilbert groaned. He then leaned back into his chair and spread his arms behind his head, tucking his pale hands over his elbows. Our literature lecture didn't start for another five minutes, so there was still plenty of time to argue.

"Fran, you've been back for three days, and you two still haven't uttered one word to each other. As I'm friends with both of you, it's my duty to put a stop to this."

"Debatable," I muttered under my breath and crossed my arms.

"Arthur, can you stop being a cocksucker for two seconds and just own up to what you did?" Gilbert leered.

"ME?!" I spluttered. "Why should I do anything?! It's not my fault that his ego is large enough to make him lament about me not saying goodbye to his stubbly mug."

"Ay! That was so uncalled for!" Antonio chided. Both him and Gilbert were strategically situated between Francis and I, and by strategically, I mean practically, as we would have already been at each other's throats without them acting as human barriers.

Lovino, who would always side with me in disputes like this, snickered to himself. Unbeknownst to me, he was snapchatting this entire fiasco.

"You vulgar, bitter little hedgehog!" Francis shrieked. "I hope you die alone and lose that mysterious friend of yours!"

I rolled up my sleeves and leaned over my seat. "Now listen here, you mud-sucking bottom feeder, I'll have you know that–"

"Friend, what friend?" Antonio, Gilbert, and Lovino asked at the same time.

Slyly, Francis smirked and stuck up his chin. I gagged as the smell of his rose perfume and body wash came my way. Noticing this, Francis flipped his hair again to make his curls bounce even more.

"Oh, you didn't know? Arthur has a secret friend."

"W-what are you talking about?!" I stammered.

"I mean, has anyone else noticed how happy he is?" Francis continued. "I caught him smiling into his bowl of lucky charms yesterday morning. That never happens, miserable of a meal that it is for an equally miserable person. There's also the fact that he keeps disappearing in the library or from our dorm for large periods of times. It makes me suspicious…"

"You're just overthinking things," I snapped.

"Is it really so hard to believe that you're being secretive? You smell like a ghost, Arthur. You've been talking to spirits behind my back, haven't you? What goes to say that you're not hiding someone or something else from us?"

I glared at Antonio and Gilbert, who silently acknowledged our promise and backed down. This didn't seem to faze Francis. He was too absorbed in his melodramatic fantasy of accusing and making me look bad.

"So what if I have been? I don't need to answer to you," I snorted.

"Tsk! Tsk! That only makes me more suspicious."

Everything became calm, too calm – like the calm before a storm. My ears rang.

"Tell me, Francis, how sore are you?"

"Pardon?"

"Well, you seem to have no problem riding off my notes, and given how sorry your writing is, I wouldn't be too surprised if you attempted to ride your way into having an A+ in this class…if you know what I mean."

Lovino gasped. "Shit, that's savage, even to my standards. I think I just found my new role model."

Antonio and Gilbert clasped hands over each other's mouths, wanting to stand in solidarity with Francis, but unfortunately for the Frog, they were unable to and burst out laughing. Students close by in other rows also began to chuckle and smirk.

Francis turned bright red. "I TOLD YOU THAT I ONLY FLIRTED WITH HIM. HE WASN'T EVEN INTERESTED."

"Of course he wouldn't be, it's you."

I don't know how it happened, but next thing I knew, I was grabbing the collar of Francis's shirt and he was grabbing mine. We were still in our seats, so you can only imagine how awkward it was to lean over Gilbert and Antonio.

"LET GO OF ME, YOU FOUL-BREATHED BAGUETTE TIT!"

"YOU'VE ALWAYS SUCKED AT INSULTS!" Francis gasped.

"GUYS…ACK…STOP!" Antonio screamed.

"No, keep going. This is great soap opera material," Lovino encouraged.

"Fine, get your sexual tension out, just don't do it over me," Gilbert whined. There was hardly any room for him to stand up from his seat, so he was stuck as is.

"AHEM!" All five of us froze as Laura cleared her throat and stopped to stand before the entrance of the row we were sitting in.

Immediately, we all straightened and fell silent. Laura was a Belgian exchange student, as well as the only female member of our group. She had transferred late, but had quickly taken to the motherly role of making us all behave.

Laura's heels clacked as she took slow, deliberate steps behind us.

WHACK!

Lovino yelped and fell forward as Laura whacked him in the back of the head with her textbook. "Delete those videos."

"Yes, bella," he groaned, and gave her a sheepish smile.

WHACK!

Antonio was her next victim.

"Stop insulting Arthur in Spanish."

"Ah…si."

"SO THAT'S WHY YOU GUYS ARE ALWAYS LAUGHING AT ME?!" I exploded.

Laura scowled. Once again, I fell silent. "I'll get to you in a second," she warned.

WHACK!

Gilbert was the next to fall.

"That's for exploiting this fight in order to get on Matthew's good side. Believe me, you're not impressing anyone."

"Mein Gott woman, who put you in charge?"

WHACK!

"…"

WHACK!

Francis yelped. "Get over yourself."

WHACK!

Spots dusted my vision. "Get over your pride."

With that done and said, Laura neatly sat beside me and started pulling out her notebook and pencil case from her bag. "Boys are such idiots," she muttered to herself.

"Agreed," Natalia, a Belarusian exchange student sitting two rows above us, nodded.

"THANK you!" Laura said and then made an angry hand gesture. "Well? Aren't you two going to apologize to each other?!"

Like rusty motors, we all spluttered back to life. The pain had yet to register. "Right, erm. Francis, I'm sorry. I should have said goodbye to you before you left."

"Annnnnnnnnnnnd?" Francis raised a thin brow.

I ground my teeth. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Arthur!" Laura snapped.

"Fine! Fine! I'm sorry for. Oh God, where do I even begin?"

"How about insinuating that I would prostitute myself for a good grade?"

"Sorry."

"And for calling me a mud-sucking bottom feeder."

"Sorry."

"And for calling me a baguette tit."

"Sorry."

"Oui, I bet you are."

"Francis!"

"Desole…"

This proceeded for another two minutes, and Francis reciprocated the same with me. By the time we were done, the lecture should have started already. Fifteen minutes later, the TA came scrambling in to inform us that Prof. Braginski had cancelled this class as well as the next one.

Most people seemed happy about this, but I was a bit concerned. Looks like the rumours were true. Braginski never stayed for long here. Something must have happened to give him cold feet; I just hoped that he was okay. I genuinely liked him, even if he did come off as a bit odd, or rather, off sometimes.

Since it was cancelled, we didn't have to wait until the end of the slot to hand in our second one-shot. Alfred's constant presence over the break had distracted me too much to be able to do a well-researched historical piece. I had ended up doing a much lighter children's piece, intending to go for a darker element for the final take-home exam. After hearing all of Matthew's stories about his grandmother and her twin-brother, that seemed like the greatest contender on what my choice of topic would be.

"Ah, Mr. Kirkland," The TA pushed up his spectacles as he accepted my outline. "Mr. Braginski told me about you. We'll both be looking forward to reading this."

"Uh, thank you," I spluttered. "I hope I don't disappoint." I better not. I had put a lot of effort and thought into that one-shot. The lack of research had made it a whole lot easier to meet today's deadline.

"I'm just surprised that you remembered the deadline," Francis teased as he handed in his own one-shot.

I laughed to be polite, but my eyes told another story. "I may lose things, but I never forget deadlines," I said through gritted teeth.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

No one bothered to jump at the bangs coming from the back of the classroom. This late into the semester, we were all used to it. The memory of the ghost couldn't just pick up and leave. It would remain there as long as something meaningful to it kept triggering its presence. So far, I haven't had any luck in figuring out what it was. I was more interested in the ghost at the library anyway.

Laura and the rest of our group had given up on salvaging peace between us, and had already left the room. We trudged up the aisles silently to get back to our seats, both irritated with each other, but too worn out to argue anymore.

"Tell me if you find out anything more," Francis told me as he slung his satchel over his shoulder. "I have a test to study for and can't stay back this time."

"How did you know I was going to stay back?" I asked.

"You have the caterpillar look, where your eyebrows furrow together. It means you're thinking," Francis said nonchalantly.

Infuriated, but not wanting Francis to win, I watched him smugly dance his way down the steps and exit the room. Everyone else had already left, and there wasn't another class after this one. I was the only person in the room.

I cleared my throat. "Okay, now, don't be testy with me, but we've been trying this all semester. Is there someone–"

"YO ART!"

I nearly jumped two feet into the air when the front doors at the bottom of the auditorium split open with a slam. "There you are! I heard that class ended early, and have been looking all over for you."

Alfred hurried up the steps to reach me. I winced every time he stubbed his toe, which was a lot mind you. I was starting to wonder if he truly was a puppy given how clumsy, nervous, and simultaneously overexcited he was whenever he first laid eyes on me.

"So?" Alfred grinned and stopped in front of me with a huff. "Whaddaya think? Cool right?"

I repressed a sigh at the fake fangs he was wearing. You wouldn't pay me enough to admit how handsome he looked in them, especially with the mischievous glint lingering in his eyes. "Oh dear God, you really weren't kidding when you said that you were going to dress up for Halloween."

"Hell yeah, man! I love Halloween! You get to dress up, eat a shit ton of candy, and watch horror movies scary enough to make you puke! What's not to like? So, yay or nay?"

I reached up to cup Alfred's cheek. "You are such a dork. I'll still never understand how you're scared of ghosts, and yet have such an interest in them. I've called you this before, and I'll call you it again, you're a living oxymoron."

"Yeah," Alfred's cheeks became dusted a light pink. "But I think it's been established that you love me for both of those things. Now, on a scale of one to ten, how much do these fangs make your boxers wet?"

"Hmmm I don't know, I'll have to hear your accent first."

Alfred cleared his throat and winked. "I vant to suck your lips."

I cracked the smallest of smiles. "Well, go on then. You've successfully captured me under your spell."

Alfred bent down to kiss me, breathing heavily into my face. He couldn't stop giggling for whatever reason, and I didn't know why.

"Is there something the matter?" I asked him.

"Nah, it's just cute because I can tell when you're thinking really hard. Your eyebrows furrow together."

"Is it really that obvious?" I spluttered.

"Yep."

"Oh. I'll have to keep that in mind…"

"Come, let's head over to the library. I heard they're serving hot chocolate for free now to encourage students to study."

Oblivious, Alfred grabbed my hand and started dragging me down the aisles. Luckily, I had already grabbed my things beforehand. Once Alfred started, it was hard to stop him, and before I knew it, he was rattling on about who knows what.

"Did ya know that on Halloween day ghosts are allowed to visit the Earth?"

"Yes, I did know that. I read a lot of folklore."

More like I've spoken to ghosts.

"It's not that they can't appear on any other days, but they can't appear in full without it draining their energy. Halloween is the only day where they're able to communicate with their loved ones."

"I know."

"Then again, there are those ghosts stuck on Earth, but they're transparent. Halloween allows them to manifest like any other regular human."

"Maybe you should become a ghost. If you're transparent, maybe I can finally read what's on your mind," I mused.

Alfred clenched his jaw and pushed open the doors of the auditorium much harsher than what was necessary.

"Don't joke about things like that, Artie. It's not funny."

Stunned, I followed him out of the room and didn't say anything more.

…

October 29th

….

I ducked behind a bookshelf, only to spit out and splutter on the string of paper-cut lanterns hanging from it. The library had very marginally decided to dress up for Halloween, not that anyone would even bother to come to the movie night being held here on the night of. It fell on a Sunday, which inevitably meant parties in University-land.

Matthew was holding an extra-long study group today since it was still technically mid-term season. He was gracious enough to not alert the others of my presence as I slipped past them to head up to the fifth floor. I didn't like using the elevator, as small spaces made me feel claustrophobic. Hanging around with my classmates for a long period of time was another thing that made me claustrophobic; the library was my one time away from them.

I wanted to get a look at the record sections again, without Alfred this time. I couldn't take one step into that area without him whining about being spooked or begging for us to leave. I had come here just a little earlier than usual, leaving my last class a bit early as it was only review, so I wouldn't have to worry about Alfred. He knew what time to expect me, and right now wasn't it.

The records section was a bit dustier than usual, so I had brought a duster along with me too. As I pawed through different books, looking for something to intrigue my interest and possibly inspire the muse for my upcoming final, I remembered something. Matthew's grandmother.

I then began searching for any Amelia's in the records, also keeping a look-out for the surname Williams. My search didn't last very long, as a large thump resonated to my left. Carefully, I put down my duster and straightened my posture.

Perhaps the ghost was finally brave enough to make itself seen to me.

Calmly, I cleared my throat and opened my mouth to speak. All air was stolen from my lungs when Alfred sprang on me from behind. Strong arms wrapped around my waist and lifted me in the air.

"Artie!" Alfred cheered. "You're here early. Why didn't you come see me?!"

After several sloppy kisses on Alfred's part, and many angry elbows on my part, Alfred finally put me down.

Alfred grinned. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you were avoiding me. And is that a duster you're using as a weapon?"

I lowered my duster and scowled. "You know how much I hate surprises, and yet that still doesn't stop you from popping up on me when I least expect it. How about greeting me like a normal person?"

"No can do, I'm far from normal, Art. Wouldn't want you to get bored with me. So, where to now? It's a bit cold to sit on the roof, so how about the lounge?"

"I wanted to look at some records," I replied, dryly. "That's why I came here early."

Alfred waved a gloved hand at me. "Nah! Save the spookiness for Halloween. Let's do something!"

"Like what?"

"I don't know, why don't we go for a walk outside?"

"You just said that it's cold," I deadpanned.

"Yeah, but we can get some warm drinks, how does that sound? I heard that James Creek is beautiful at this time of year."

"Oh yes, truly. What with all the empty beer cans and used condoms."

"There's a place farther up that no one knows about. I'd like to take you there."

I sighed. The old me would have freaked out at the thought of abandoning my studies and falling behind schedule. My priorities had clearly changed with Alfred in my life now. "Why not?"

Alfred's cheeks split into a wide smile once more. Wordlessly, I let him tow me out of the library. Although, this time we used the back exit, the one that Alfred typically used to get into the library. He still wasn't ready to meet anyone just yet, and I suppose I just had to respect that.

…

Alfred held my hand with his right, and our shared extra large hot chocolate with his left. Many students were still bustling about to get to their late afternoon classes, so I was a bit hesitant to hold hands with him so openly like this. I knew that I shouldn't have to feel this way, but old thoughts are hard to break, especially when you've been scrutinized for such a natural, trivial thing for most of your life.

Alfred squeezed my hand in reassurance, but still looked a bit nervous himself as people gave us odd, uncomprehending stares.

"It's all right, Art," Alfred said stiffly. "I'm here. Nothing will happen as long as I'm with you."

"I just don't get it," I whispered. "Why are they staring at us as if we've grown second heads? We're holding hands. What's so bad about that?"

"Nothing. There's absolutely nothing wrong with it, sweetheart," Alfred said.

"Let's just get out of here."

The rest of our walk was for the most part silent. Alfred hogged the hot chocolate, but I honestly wouldn't have expected anything different from him. He was right, though. The part of James Creek that he took me to was far beyond where I had buried late Davie's photo. We had walked right through a forest until coming upon a clearing where the creek split off into smaller streams. There were several rusty old benches and cracked pavement that hugged the outskirts of the grass bed just by the water. It looked like the kind of place you would go to feed ducks or geese and just enjoy the serenity of the surrounding nature.

"Alfred, how did you know about this place?" I said in awe.

"I'm guessing that you like it, huh?"

I ignored the smugness in his tone. "Of course. I mean, how couldn't I? You should have taken me here before. It's a shame that more people don't know about this place. It seems like a wonderful place to distress and not think about anything."

"I thought you'd say something like that," Alfred chuckled, and then guided me to sit on a bench that faced the lazy current of water trickling by. "I came here in the summer quite a bit, ya know, before I found the library. I didn't want anyone to find out about this place and wanted to save it for special moments like this…with a special someone to share it with."

"You're being overly sentimental today, not that I'm complaining. Why is that?"

Alfred whistled. "I dunno, kinda just felt like it."

"That's not an answer."

"I don't really have one then."

"…"

"…"

"What is this place anyways?" I asked.

"It was…I think it was an old courtyard before they demolished several buildings and moved some parts of the campus."

"Oh. Did you come here to get inspiration for your writing?"

"Yeah, but I told you. The most inspiration I get is from you," Alfred said, and then nudged forward to bump noses with mine. "I didn't need to come here anymore, or even go to the roof to be frank. As long as I'm with you, my existence is made ten times better."

"Oh hush, now you're just being sappy," I chided. I cupped his face and kissed him, rough chapped lips meeting each other in an unrushed tempo. Heat from his breath collided with mine, the taste of chocolate on our tongues making me want more of him. Slowly, I shifted closer and closer, greedily moving his hands onto my waist.

"Art…I…" Alfred panted, hair mussed from my own doing. "I want…"

"What do you want?" I cooed, and pulled away from him. His eyes were the closest clue of understanding what was going on. Skewed spectacles aside, there was a desire in his eyes that only fuelled that of my own. There was also something childish about them, a helplessness and powerlessness that I still had no hope of comprehending.

I wanted to do something more than kissing, but I also didn't want to push him. This would often happen, where we would start making out and he would show signs of wanting to take things farther, but never making the first move. I knew how jittery he was and wanted him to be the one to make it.

"I want you…"

"You want me how?" I asked patiently.

"Closer." There was a certain whine and need in his voice that made my heart leap.

"Like this?" I resumed sucking on his bottom lip.

"No. I want…more." Alfred breathed deeply and ran his hand through my hair, holding the back of my head as if it were a lifeboat tethering him in place.

"How much is more to you?" I couldn't be too sure.

BUZZ! BUZZ!

We both jumped apart from each other when my phone rang. My face warmed, and unable to recover from the moment as it had long been broken, I settled at Alfred's side again.

"Who is it?" Alfred asked me as I begrudgingly checked my phone.

"Alistair, my older brother."

"I know who your older brother is," Alfred said, sternly. "He's probably just worried about you. What did I tell ya about calling him more? It's the decent thing to do, Art."

"I will…" Alfred glared at me. "No, I do. I do. Promise. I make sure to call him at least once a week."

"Good. Does he…know about me?"

"He knows that I've found someone. I didn't know if you wanted me to tell him more than that though, so I haven't," I answered.

"Oh, well, maybe you should wait," Alfred flushed a bright pink. "I…uh…"

"Shhh," I placed a finger over his lips. "It's fine, I understand. Let's just get back to where we left off, shall we?"

"Art, I can't deal with this teasing. It's getting to be too much. I want you, so badly, but I just…"

"You just what?"

"I'm scared of hurting you."

"You're not going to."

"You don't know that," Alfred said abruptly.

"Well, you haven't so far," I rationalized.

"There's still time for that."

Warmth pricked at my eyes. I knew I was being selfish, but I too wanted more from him, of him. "How come you don't ever want to come home with me?"

 _Why can't I go to your place either?_

"You know why, Art," Alfred whispered. "I'm shy."

"What if I got my roommate to stay away from the apartment for several hours? What would you say to that?"

"…"

"That's not exactly a no I'm hearing."

Alfred bit his lip. "I guess I would be fine with that."

"You guess, or you are?"

"I am."

I turned to Alfred to look at him, and I mean really look at him. He was struggling no doubt, but there was also a stubborn expression on his face that indicated that he was willing to try this out for me.

Something that Alistair told me years ago suddenly came to mind, a sense of nostalgia that felt uncomfortably appropriate to the moment.

 _"The happiest seeming people are the ones that suffer most."_

"Are you sure?" I inquired, just to be certain.

"I am," he repeated, stiffly.

"I won't do anything you're not comfortable with. If anything, I'd only like you to spend time at my apartment," I told him.

"If you want me to, and no one else is there, then I will. No problem. It's about time that I be a good boyfriend and step out of my comfort zone." It very much seemed like a problem to Alfred, but he avoided eye contact, cutting off any room for debate.

"You were already an excellent boyfriend in the first place," I reassured. "I love you for you, quirks and all. We all have our flaws, and that's perfectly acceptable."

"Thank you, Arthur."

"For what, love?"

Alfred gestured impatiently. "You know what."

I didn't, but chose not to say anything more. Alfred was often vague, and while I couldn't understand all of him, I understood what was most important. I was better at reading his emotions than I was at his thoughts. While nervous, there was a submerged excitement in the way he held me close under his arm or how he impatiently tapped his feet as I called Lovino to ask for a favour.

"Lovino?"

 _"Arthur?"_

"Yes, it's me."

" _Couldn't you have just texted me instead of calling like an old geezer?"_

"This is something I need to make a call for, so you'll just have to deal with it," I rolled my eyes. "Look, I need to ask you a favor."

 _"And?"_ I could just imagine Lovino rolling his hand in a bored manner.

"You're at the study group, right?"

 _"Unfortunately."_

"Oh, good. Can you step out for a short moment? I don't want them to overhear anything."

" _Oi, this better be good."_ The shuffling in the background indicated that Lovino had gotten up anyway. He liked to complain a lot, but still did things for people regardless, often without asking for anything in return.

"Are you out of hearing range?"

 _"Che, have a little faith in me, you bastard."_

I smiled. "Sorry. So, can you make sure that Francis doesn't come home tonight?"

 _"Why?"_

"I want to have someone over… If you could just get Francis to hook up with someone, or keep him away from the apartment, it'd be greatly appreciated."

" _Fine. Done. Although, getting Francis to hook up with someone is a feat in itself. He's already slept with the entire school. Uh…yeah. Have fun or what the fuck ever. I have to go, the others are already getting suspicious_."

"Thank you! Thank you so much! I'll give you all my study notes!"

" _You do that anyway,"_ Lovino smirked. " _It's fine. It's not problem at all. Just be safe, all right?"_

"Yes, I will."

After saying a quick goodbye, I hung up the phone.

"We're good?" Alfred asked me.

I teasingly grabbed at his chin. It was hard to contain how happy I was. "We're more than good. Let's go."

Our roles reversed on the way back. Instead of me being quiet and having Alfred lead us forward and reassure me, I did all this. Still, the shy smile poking at Alfred's lips told me everything that I needed to know. He was just as excited as I was.

…

I couldn't believe it, but I had actually gotten Alfred into my apartment again. Although, it did eerily feel like I had just captured a wild animal, considering how much he was shaking. I had given him a mug of tea, and he was clutching onto it for dear life, ignoring the fact that he was burning his palms. He sat stiffly in the chair I had seated him at the kitchen table, shoulders hunched and lips pressed firmly together.

I sighed and sat across from him with my own cup of tea. "You're stiff," I informed him. "Relax. I told you, I just want to spend time with you."

"I'm not stiff, just anxious."

"Would you like something to eat?" I asked.

"Not hungry, too nervous." He had stooped down to the communication level of a toddler.

"Alfred, why are you nervous now? Francis isn't going to come back anytime soon. Lovino took them all to a club."

"It's not that!" Alfred spluttered. "It's you."

"Me?" I raised my eyebrows. "What did I do?!"

"Stop. Please stop."

"Stop what?!" I snapped.

"Stop pouting. It's tempting me."

"That's only encouraging me more, I hope you know that," I teased. "What a lovely thing it would be to have you all over me."

"Art, I'm not kidding."

I rolled my eyes, and stopped teasing. "Alfred, love. Please, just try to relax. I'm not going to do anything you don't want to do. Now, if you're not hungry, then I'm going to go eat something."

I set out to making two bagels, knowing that if I pretended it was mine, Alfred would want some of it.

"Shucks, man. You're just so pretty," Alfred sighed. "If I had a whole afternoon of just kissing you, I'd take it in a heartbeat."

I turned to peck Alfred on the cheek. "That would be quite nice, wouldn't it be?"

Alfred closed his eyes in content. "Hmmm." He was still holding back, now gripping onto the sides of his chair. I needed to make him more comfortable, to make him laugh somehow.

"Tell me, do I butter your bagel?" I asked him.

"I told you I didn't want a bagel," Alfred blushed.

"I'm speaking metaphorically here."

"Oh. Well, what is that supposed to mean?"

I scoffed. "Right, I forgot how blunt and obvious I have to be with you. Do I make you hot and bothered?"

"ARTHUR!" Alfred exploded, accidentally knocking over his tea mug. Luckily, he had already finished drinking it.

"What?" I feigned innocence and blinked at him owlishly.

"You can't…you can't just ask me those sort of things…"

"Sorry. I forgot that only you're allowed to use innuendos."

"That was one time!" Alfred whined.

"You told me that if we were naked, you'd warm me up faster. I hardly see how it's fair that you can use them, and I can't," I huffed and crossed my arms. Meanwhile, Alfred pouted to himself and mumbled something incoherent to himself.

The room fell silent, save for the creaks of Alfred's chair as he tipped it back and forth. I turned my back to him and waited for the bagel to pop out of the toaster. It never got to that point.

Warmth spread across my back when Alfred wrapped his arms around my waist, and placed his chin on my shoulder. "You're right, you do butter my bagel," he purred.

I turned to meet him half way. His lips were hungry to meet mine. I leaned against him, and abruptly tensed when I felt something hard.

"Alfred?" I questioned.

"Arthur," Alfred moaned. The inhibition withholding the gate of his true desires and emotions had just been broken; there was no going back now. Alfred was initiating this on his own, he wanted me, and I wanted him.

I gave a good start when Alfred spun me around and assertively placed me against the counter, grinding against my waist. I moaned in reciprocation and ignored the small pain in my back. The friction felt too good. I didn't care.

"I want you, Arthur," Alfred sighed.

"I was already yours to begin with," I said, and wrapped my arms around his neck as he scooped me up into his arms.

"Where?" He huffed, too aroused to bother to form a proper sentence. I pointed to my right, where my bedroom was. As Alfred stumbled forward, cradling me more delicately than ever before, I worked on taking off his jacket, greedily placing my hand underneath his turtleneck. He winced at the coldness of my skin, but was quick to moan when I pressed and rubbed at the sensitive skin, allowing my fingers to caress the firm marble of his chest.

BRING!

We both paused to laugh at the sound of the bagel popping out of the toaster, and once more when Alfred just about kicked open my bedroom door. "Easy," I growled. "If there's a hole in that wall, you're paying for it."

"It'd be a hole well spent then," Alfred teased.

"Again with the innuendos, even as we're about to have sex."

Alfred tensed for a brief second before impulsively going after my lips again, sucking with desperate vigor. Before I knew it, I was lying on my bed with Alfred hovering over me, straddling me.

"Wait," I panted. "Alfred. Alfred!" I tapped at his back. He was _really_ getting into this.

Alfred pulled up, spectacles nearly drooping off his nose.

I laughed, and pulled off the spectacles, putting them to the side. I then reached out and cupped his cheeks, gazing up at a face that looked even younger. Wide cerulean eyes met my own; pink swollen lips; teeth white enough to blind; and hair softer than the feathers of an angel. This man was mine and mine alone.

"Are you comfortable?" I asked him after setting his spectacles down.

Alfred's eyes darkened. "Yes. I always am with you."

"Good, because I am too. I love you."

"I love you too."

I opened my drawer, pulled out a condom, and handed it to Alfred. He shakily accepted it. Knowing him, he had probably gotten too overwhelmed and had forgotten about the existence of them.

"You forgot, didn't you?"

"N-No!"

"Dumbass."

Alfred smirked. "And I'm the one using innuendos?"

Alfred ducked to avoid my slap. "Kidding, kidding. Now, c'mere."

I tilted my chin back as Alfred began kissing my cheeks, then my jaw, my chest, my stomach, and all the way down to my thighs. He was slow, but I was enjoying every minute of it. Soon, I was enjoying him, crying out his name, wanting him closer and closer. He was like a burning furnace, both in the temperature of his skin and the passion he exploded with. I had never felt so whole, so completed, so bloody well satisfied in my life.

I loved him.

I loved him more than I did myself.

…

Wrapped under the blankets, I wound an arm around Alfred's waist. We were both sticky and our breathing was still heavy. Alfred was looking up at the ceiling blankly. When he didn't say anything for a while, that's when I became concerned.

"Al, love. What's wrong?"

"I shouldn't have done that," Alfred said flatly.

My chest erupted with pain, as if a knife had just been lodged into it. Tears sprang into my eyes, but they were quick to dissolve when Alfred spoke again.

"I always end up leaving people, Art. I'd hate to hurt you."

"Maybe things will be different this time. Pessimism isn't going to get you anywhere. Hell, you're the one who helped me overcome some of my own pessimism and trust issues. We're both broken, imperfect people with gods knows how many issues, but can't we find solace in that? I'm no longer lonely when I'm with you. I don't want to think about anything other than the fact that you're here with me now," I whispered, and began tracing circles up and down his jawline.

"The past isn't something worth ruminating over. Live in the present. Live for yourself, and for what you have. You have me, and I, you."

"You don't get it!" Alfred cracked. "I always fuck things up!"

"You haven't fucked things up with me," I reminded him.

"Yet. I haven't fucked up things with you yet," he corrected.

Upset, I removed his arm and turned my back to him.

"Arthur," Alfred said, worry in his voice. "Arthur, what's wrong?"

"I feel like I've just taken advantage of you," I replied, horrified. I felt nauseated. The room span, and my stomach curled.

"No! No! NO! You didn't! Arthur? Sweetheart, please. Listen to me. You didn't take advantage of me. If anything, I took advantage of you."

I shivered when he wrapped his arms around me.

"You can't take advantage of someone if they wanted it," I argued. "I really wanted it, and I'll want it again, because God if that didn't ever feel amazing."

Alfred sighed. "I wanted it too. Still do."

"Then what's the argument for? You saved me, Alfred. You saved me from the terrors of a new start in an unfamiliar place. You're my familiarity, my home…my saviour."

"You're right. I'm sorry," Alfred admitted, although it didn't quite reach his tone. "Actually, I'm your hero, remember?"

"Right, I forgot. You really love your super heroes like a total fucking dork."

"Want to fuck that dork again?"

"Mhmmm."

"Just gimme some time to ya know…"

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, I'm well aware. I also want to let you know that you're in no means required to stay the night. I won't pressure you, because making you uncomfortable is the last thing I want to do. Feel free to leave whenever you want."

Alfred gave me a knowing look. "Thanks, buddy. I'm sorry."

I turned and tucked my head under his chin. It was a way of hiding my disappointment, while also showing my support. "Don't be."

...

Oct. 30th

…

It was an early Saturday morning, and I intended to get a good chunk of work done at the library. Finals were in just over a month, and honestly, it was about time that I started working on that last one-shot for Prof. Braginski. I knew for a fact that Alfred wouldn't be here this early (as he was sleeping in from leaving my apartment so late), so first thing I wanted to do before I lost the chance was look through the records section – holistically, without being interrupted.

I found Matthew slumped over at the front desk, a mug of coffee cupped in his pale, frail hands. He sipped from it slowly, humming in content. He had a guilty pleasure of pouring maple-syrup into warm drinks.

"Good morning," Matthew greeted. "You're here early. Set up isn't until 11:00 AM. Unless, you came here to study?"

"Morning," I mumbled, and took a swig from the metal cannister that held my own morning tea. "You're exactly right. Figured I'd get some work done, especially since how loud things are going to be all over campus tomorrow night."

"Eh? Parties, smarties. All you need is a good set of noise-cancelling headphones and you're golden," Matthew smiled.

"True," I agreed. "Hey, don't you think you're drinking too much coffee for your age? It's not good for you."

"Says the person who drinks caffeinated tea at all hours of the day and hardly gets a wink of sleep," Matthew retorted.

"Touché," I raised one hand in surrender.

"So, have you found out anything new about that ghost?" Matthew asked.

"Not really, no. I honestly haven't had much time either way. Sometimes they're just like that. They'll come out when they're ready, as well as when you least expect it. I'll make sure to let you know if I do find out anything more."

"Good, I'm holding you to that promise." Matthew sighed and flushed slightly when his phone buzzed with a new text. "Mon dieu, this guy really doesn't know when to quit it. Why is it that I'm the first person he thinks of when he wakes up?"

"Who, Gilbert?" I asked.

"Mmmm," Matthew nodded.

I furrowed my brows. "Be careful around him. I know you don't like me babying you, but he's 18, you're 16. And no, don't play it off as if you don't have some interest in him, you wear your emotions on your face. I've been around you long enough, Matthew, so don't bother trying to cover it up."

"I will be careful," Matthew huffed, albeit softly. "I'll have you know that as much as you think that he's a player, you couldn't be anymore wrong. He has a promise ring and intends to save his virginity for the person he marries. He likes me for me, I'm just unsure how I feel about that. I haven't ever been the center of someone's world before. It's quite strange."

"My advice would be not to rush things or expect a lot, unless shown otherwise. You put in what you get, and if he puts in a lot, then I encourage that you do too if you really care about him. I wouldn't be surprised if I were you. Anyone would be lucky to have a sweet and thoughtful person like you as their partner."

"Thanks, Arthur. That's actually really good advice."

"Anytime," I said, and turned on my heels. "Well, I'll see you in a couple of hours."

"You're heading to the records section?"

"Indeed, I am."

"Oh! Well enjoy! Perhaps that's not the best choice of words given how dark this school's history is, but, um, yeah…" Matthew trailed off, at a loss of words to say. "I think I told you this before, but if you need anymore information, my grandma wouldn't mind if you gave her a call. She loves talking about what she does. Maybe, your story could help spread the word about a sensitive issue like this."

I blinked in shock. Matthew's grandmother was a famous motivational speaker, so if she endorsed my story, it would give me a lot of exposure and credit – something that a young writer like myself desperately needed. "That would be amazing, actually. Thank you."

"It's no problem at all! Actually, I'm supposed to call her later this afternoon. Her and Mama always like to catch up on Saturdays. You can speak to her then!"

I nodded and waved over my shoulder. "Sounds good."

I couldn't wipe the smile off my face. Everything was just so…perfect. With school, with my brother, with Alfred, with my friends. I felt like a complete idiot for the obvious bounce in my step, but perhaps being an idiot wasn't so bad after all if I had another idiot to complete me.

This happiness was quick to change upon the sudden change of atmosphere.

When I got up to the records section, something felt…off. The air was cooler than usual, and everything was incredibly still. The ringing in my ears only added to this superstition; it only happened when a spirit or rather spirits were nearby. Was this it, was the ghost finally trying to reach out to me?

I pretended not to acknowledge these signs, wanting whatever was causing all this to come out on their own, when they were ready. I flipped through the records, looking through the W's for Williams.

"Williams, Williams, where are you?" I muttered to myself.

"You're wrong."

A voice so soft that I could have imagined it whispered.

THUMP!

A book from the J-L section fell onto the ground, the thud causing me to flinch slightly.

Slowly, I sauntered over to it and bent down. The page was left open, revealing a scan of an old newspaper article. "Heartbreaking death of beloved athlete..."

 _A sharp intake of breath._

My eyes immediately skipped to the name and then the picture. Alfred F. Jones, 19, December 9th, 1961. Suicide, reasons unknown.

 _The happiest seeming people are the ones that suffer most._

I froze, and blinked uncomprehendingly. With shaking hands, I flipped to the next few pages, all of which included images of the very same man I've fallen in love with. The same hair, the same spectacles, the same stupid smile, the same bomber jacket. Everything, everything was the same.

And then, a picture of him and his sister, Amelia. _Amelia Jones_. Jones was her maiden name. I had been looking in the wrong place all along. I had…I hadn't been looking. The ghost had been right in front of me this whole time.

I didn't want to understand, but I did. He never wanted to be seen because only I could see him. All the mysteries, aversions, and quirks were lies. He wasn't being weird. He was just trying to avoid the truth.

Reality had never been so cruel, crashing down onto me so fast that all that was left was the acrid smell of burning tires; dreams; hopes. I felt like I was floating, tethered by the black and white images haunting my eyes. Tears slipped down my cheeks, wracking sobs building up in my chest.

"No. NO! NO! NO!"

I slammed the book shut, and threw it against a nearby wall. "NO!"

I had never felt so betrayed, hurt, and confused. I looked up at the ceiling and let out a guttural, choked gasp. "WHY?!" I asked to no one in particular. I didn't believe in god anymore. "Why does something bad _always_ have to happen to me? WHY?!"

I needed to get out of here. Just standing in the library made me sick knowing that he had committed suicide just thirty feet away from me, nearly sixty years ago.

Matthew leapt up from his seat as I stormed past the front desk. "Arthur? Arthur?! What's wrong? What happened?!"

"Jones was her maiden name, can you fucking believe it?" I shrieked. I was going completely mad. Of course he knew that. But I sure hadn't.

"Huh?"

"Alfred, your great uncle Alfred. He was the relative of yours who committed suicide here!"

"Did I not tell you that?"

"YOU MOST CERTAINLY DID NOT!" I yelled. Matthew flinched from the accusatory tone, but knew better not to say anything.

"Arthur, I don't understand…Oh. The ghost. _Oh my god_. Is that the secret friend you were speaking to? What did he look–"

"I…I need to get out of here. I can't…I…" I took in several heaving breaths and could hardly see through the tears. I was having a full-on panic attack.

"ARTHUR! ARTHUR WAIT, PLEASE!" Matthew cried out after me, but I had already left the library. I slammed open the front doors and hurried down the cement steps, only to bend over the railing and vomit into the bushes below.

Alfred Jones, the man I was painfully in love with, had committed suicide here at this school.

The one person who had ever made me feel remotely alive was dead.

 **To be continued...**

 **(A/N: I'm sorry.)**


End file.
